John the Conqueror Root
by SpyVsTailor
Summary: There are dangers outside their happy little convent, other groups, other tribes, other militants, other people, the walking dead, two of their own, inside is community and family. Is it luck or the grace of God which favours them? And how long will it last? Rated M for the Dixon's and their colourful lexicon mostly, but possibly more. Part 3 of the Graveyard Dirt & Salt series.
1. Fish

**Well, this is it, kiddies. The very last story in this series. I hope it goes well, hope there's no disappointment, no outright rage at me or anything. Hope no one dies. That would be a bummer.**

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**Chapter One: Fish**

****Merle****

They were deep in the heart of July.

Georgia in the middle of summer was hotter than a Texan's asshole, but God she was beautiful.

Without dipshit human beings cluttering up the countryside, the place was like heaven bathed in warm summer air and light, humming with all kinds of cicadas and crickets.

Dipping his fishing pole in the river that ran behind the prison, Merle allowed his little rowboat to drift down with the current and yawned lazily. Before him Cash was baiting his hook with a deep furrow to his brow. On the banks of the river somewhere behind them Glenn and Rick were hunting for ducks and geese eggs to take to Delgado's for his incubator. It was late in the season, but they hoped to find something, anything at this point. They thought if they could domesticate the ducks and geese, they could preserve them since the last of the lingering dead were so hungry they were eating anything and the numbers of wild game were rapidly going down.

Merle hadn't seen a deer since the spring, the birds were luckier, since they could fly away from a crowd of lingerers, but the hooved creatures didn't seem too lucky. Hell, he had even found a fox burrow that had been plundered by one of the remaining dead, the poor family of foxes inside torn to bits.

Winter would be damned hard going if they couldn't come up with a better solution for meat. But at least they were storing up and canning all the fish they could catch. It would get repetitive and disgusting, but it would keep them alive.

Delgado was sympathetic, but he had his own people to worry about, so all he could lend them was his incubator if they found eggs. As it was, the numbers of chickens running around the convent yard had doubled since the incident with the Arkansas group in preparation for the winter. Delgado had even promised them a dozen turkeys in the fall for the help Rick and the others had given him in rebuilding his barn.

It was good to have an ally, Merle supposed, in the long run.

Thinking of the Arkansas group, made Merle think of his baby brother.

No word from either him or the Lieutenant for three months and everyone was beginning to move on in the belief they didn't make it.

Merle didn't like to think of it. Daryl was his little brother and while he'd never been hugs and kisses with him, he still felt regret over everything.

He had to admit though, neither Carol or Grace gave up hope of seeing their men again. Both women acted like their men could waltz in through the gate at any moment, whether it was denial or God's honest belief in them, no one knew.

Somewhere in the woods nearby Andrea, Michonne and Karen were collecting wild sassafras and any other kind of wild treat they could find, while Tyreese and his sister Sasha were in the nearby town with Sister Joan and Grace, looting the last of the stores for anything of use. They were stockpiling for trade if the chance ever came up with Delgado needing something. After all, he had them at a disadvantage, since his people had more to work with than those at the convent.

Milton had rigged up solar panels for them on the roof of the church which gave them electric lights at night and working plumbing, so he did the same for Delgado's group in exchange for more feed for the chickens and one milk cow which they kept tied to one of the trees on a rope long enough for it to graze, but short enough to keep it out of the garden. Now he was back at the convent probably working on his homemade anti-biotics with the chemicals they had scavenged for him from a distant science lab one state over. He had taken up one corner of the infirmary for his lab, boiling and bubbling away with chemicals that stunk to the high heavens.

Carol, Adele, Layla and Mary Agnes had taken over fussing with the cow and the new beehive they had built for fresh honey for medical purposes and to add a touch of sweet to things in the absence of sugar. While Annie and Nadir took care of the chickens, chasing them out of the garden and making sure they had clean water and food, hunting down the eggs lain among the grass of the convent, cleaning them and bringing them into the kitchen to either be cooked or stored.

Kate and her daughter had finally gone back to Delgado's, though Merle heard through the inter-tribe grapevine that she still had moments where she tried to off herself, Mae had taken to fending those self-inflicted attacks off with the help of her brother. One of these days, she'd succeed, he supposed, but for now she was still kicking.

Carl, St. James, Father O'Rourke and Herschel were probably working on tearing out the trees around the convent to expand the wall out a little further in order to build the new group of little shanties for people to have some privacy. The convent grounds were too small for such expansion and the added space would be a blessing, but it would also have the disadvantage of giving them more territory to patrol on the wall.

Thankfully, there had been no more attacks on them by anyone, just the odd wandering dead who caught the whiff of all the food on legs beyond the wall. But by this point they were so decayed there was no real threat from them. They were like mad dogs, staggering in circles and dropping where they stood.

Milton said it was a slow rate of decay and when it took over the brain, rotting it from the inside out, they eventually dropped for good.

He had duct taped the rod to his blade arm, reeling in with his good hand, ready to yank back at a moment's notice. It was the only way he could fish properly, one smirk from Cash had Merle telling him to keep his yap shut for the entire fishing trip or Merle'd be going back alone.

So they fished in silence, floating down the river, heading east towards the ocean. He didn't know if the river actually emptied into the ocean, but that was the way they were flowing.

By the time the sun was dying in the west, they had caught a good batch of trout, finding Rick and Glenn waving to them from the shore, they rowed in and handed off their catch.

"We'll have this river picked clean by next year," Glenn said. "But no eggs."

"Found signs of some muskrats still living though," Rick said. "Or something burrowing in the banks."

"Meanwhile the men are bringing home the fish flavoured bacon," Merle said.

"Oh God, bacon…" Glenn swallowed thickly.

"Keep having those wet dreams, meathead," Merle stated, handing over his tackle box and climbing out of the boat. "We'll clean them at the convent," he went on. "Sister Gertrude's cats will love the entrails."

"At this point I'd like the entrails," Glenn said.

Merle handed over a fish and smiled. "Dig in."

_**..-~-..**_

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___**..-~-..**_

When they drove up to the gate of the convent, they were greeted by Mrs. Douglas who was on gate duty.

She waved them in with a broad smile, the children who were playing at her feet standing up and waving happily, scampering after the line of vehicles. The women in the garden stood up as well from where they were weeding and approached, eager to see what sort of treasures they brought back.

Carol, who regained most of the strength in her right arm as it healed, set down the bundle of weeds she had gathered in the garden and approached looking hopeful. For weeks she had been hoping they would bring back something other than fish for dinner, Merle gave her a shrug and her hope fell.

"Well, I'm sure we can try to make fish in a different way tonight…make it taste like steak," she teased.

"You're a good cook, woman," he said, climbing out of the truck and reaching into the back for the bucket of fish, "but you're not that good."

"You haven't had my steak fried, chicken style fish yet," she returned with a soft laugh. It was alive, but there was a hollowness to it that even Merle couldn't miss. He also, along with a few of the others at the convent, didn't miss the baggier clothes she had been wearing lately or the late night visits to the infirmary with St. James.

Cash climbed out of the truck on his side and handed Adele another bucket of fish to clean.

"You know," she said to Carol. "I could always make Cajun style blackened trout."

"Thank God for seasonings," Carol groaned. "We have those coming out of the ass."

Spying Mary Agnes heading towards them as he readjusted his fishing gear in the space behind the seat of the truck, Merle smirked and bowed his head to his work. Waiting until she passed by, heading in to help Carol and Adele clean the fish, to reach out and playfully tap her on the ass, Merle chuckled when she gave a start.

"How's the milk maid?" He teased, falling into step beside her.

"One night under the peach tree and you're grabbing my rear end and getting smug," she returned. "That's putting the horse before the cart, isn't it?"

"Aw," he returned, "you didn't even let me touch your tits, it wasn't that great."

"Thank you," she said with a frown. "And now it'll never happen again."

"Prude," he snapped.

"Brute," she spat. Pausing by the door into the dorms, Mary Agnes smiled secretively at him. "So, latest word around the convent is that Herschel caught Beth and Noah making out in the rose garden last night. The poor kids were…getting there."

Merle leered in close to her. "Were her tits out?"

"His too." She giggled a little and fluttered off like a sparrow on the wing.

"Oh-ho, nasty little bastards," he laughed, following her inside. "Spraying their hormones all over our beautiful garden like a couple of rabbits in season, it's disgusting. So did old Herschel hose them down or just whup that boy?"

"He gave them a package of condoms and told them to be more discrete." She held her finger to her lips as Annie scurried by with Boo the Dog and Nadir on her heels.

"Fish, fish, fish!" Annie sung, skipping past them. "Gonna eat some fish!"

"Well, at least one of us is excited about that," Merle griped, ducking into the washroom to rinse the smell of fish off him.

_**..-~-..**_

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___**..-~-..**_

He came upon Rick later that evening standing on the north wall, gazing down the cattle trail with stony blue eyes.

Hauling his weary old carcass up onto the wall at the man's side, Merle scowled at the trail before them.

"We've put roots down," Rick murmured. "Haven't seen a healthy walker in two weeks," he went on.

"Still on edge like a crackwhore, huh?" Merle inquired.

Setting his hands on his hips, Rick sighed deeply. "Merle—"

"I know. My mouth is bigger than my brain."

"Where do we go from here?" Rick asked.

"We survive winter."

"No, I mean what's next?"

"Shit, buttercup, do I look like Nostradamus? I haven't a fucking clue. No one's shooting at me, the dead aren't chewing on my ass. I could care less what happens next. Could use a touch more trim in my life, but it's not a bad existence." Merle carefully scratched at his jaw with the point of his blade. "You're just worried because things are getting slow. Repetitive. You got so used to running and gunning that now you're bored shitless and looking for some trouble to get into."

"Look," Rick began cautiously. He was always on his guard around Merle. "What you did for Carl last week…I appreciate it."

"The kid wants to go, Rick," Merle said. "I know you don't want him out there on his own, but one of these nights he's going to sneak off. You may as well make him feel like he can at least return if he wants to. Hell of a thing to hear a father say 'pack your bags and get the fuck out'."

"Well, I still want you to know I appreciate you talking him out of it. I'll talk to him when I'm ready to let him go."

Merle sniffed. "Well, don't put it off too long. That boy ain't waiting much longer. He's itching to leave."

"You know," Rick said after a moment, turning to him. "You're not a bad person when you're sober."

"Four months dry and counting," Merle sighed. "Fuck me sideways."

"That for Mary Agnes or yourself?"

"That's from lack of opportunity," Merle stated. "Not exactly the pill popper types these nuns and we have more important things to scrounge for when we go out."

"Yeah, but you haven't even touched the communion wine," Rick pointed out.

"I'll spill some when baby bro comes home."

"You think he's coming back?" Rick asked.

"Sure, why not? He's a scrappy little shit and that Cajun's pretty well trained. Why not say they're out there right now? On the road home. What do you think? They coming back?"

"I'm not Nostradamus, Merle," Rick growled.

The two men fell silent, Merle watching the road for his brother. It was strange, but he actually missed the little pecker. He kind of missed that Cajun too, which was completely fucked since he didn't think he liked him all that much.

"Maybe I should go after them," Merle suggested. "See if I can find them dead or alive."

"Merle, you'd be looking for a needle in a stack of needles in the middle of a snowstorm." Rick argued. "There'd be no point."

"You know that pretty little blonde nun's been following you about for the last three months, right?" Merle demanded suddenly.

"Who?" Rick asked, honestly confused.

"The one that's trying to make herself look busy over by the peach tree."

Both men turned to stare into the near darkness, where Sister Elizabeth was hanging around the trunk of the peach tree by the infirmary. They turned back to the road.

"Mary Agnes says the girl's sweet on you."

"She's a nun, Merle. They don't bend like that. Probably just feels pity for me."

"You are pretty pathetic," Merle pointed out. "Wait," he added quickly, "what about Grace? She's a nun and she bent like that."

"That's different."

"And Mary Agnes?"

Rick frowned at the shadows of the trees stretching across the cattle trail before them. "Yeah, I can't figure that one out."

"What can I say, Officer Friendly, the woman has taste."

Rick shifted on his feet.

"It's an acquired taste," Merle added. "But she's got the craving."

"Treat her well, Merle," Rick said. "She's probably your last chance for love."

"Fuck you, man."

"Fuck you back, Merle."

The two men fell silent, before Merle yawned. "Well, I'm beat. Tomorrow we're bringing in some wood for winter, that should be as fun as shoving the logs right up my ass."

"You want to trade jobs?"

"What'd you pull?"

"Filling in the outhouse holes now that we don't need them, we're going to have to pack the muck down as much as we can if we want to build the new cabins on that piece of the convent grounds."

"Baby, you were born to wallow in shit," Merle taunted, struggling to get off the wall. The young little punks just hopped up and down, but in the last few months, with things slowed to a crawl, Merle had been feeling his age more than ever.

He left Rick on the wall, heading past the peach tree, where Sister Elizabeth had settled with her bible, Annie at her side listening as the young woman read the story of Noah to her. Annie shot up and wrapped her arms around his waist as he passed by, before dropping again.

The girl had been clingier than ever since the Lieutenant left. She flitted about almost aimlessly, from person to person, looking for hugs and snuggles. Comfort, he supposed.

Her night terrors had come back with a vengeance, to the point where St. James was forced to find a mild sedative for the girl to take at night just so everyone else could get some sleep without her shrieking to the high heavens.

Passing by Cash, who watched over Layla and her son as they finished their evening call to prayer, Merle gave the pain in the ass a curt nod and it was returned with a puff of smoke from the pipe he had taken to smoking in lieu of those stale assed cigarettes he was finding hard to track down. The tobacco came from Delgado's, traded by Cash for whatever supplies he had in the trunk of his car when he took off from Martin Deveau's camp.

Walking up into the dorms past Beth and Adele who were both cooing over Celeste, past Andrea who sat nearby cleaning her guns, Merle wandered the main hallway of the dorm looking for Carol or Grace, wanting to check in on them before he hit the sack.

It wasn't so much that he felt he owed it to anyone to look out for the women, but that he…well, shit he didn't know. It wasn't that he was soft or anything. But Carol was as good as family and Grace…well Daryl thought of the Cajun as a brother, so maybe in a weird way Grace was like family too.

Not that Merle would ever admit that. He would shoot himself between the eyes the day that leaked out.

As it was, both women were in the kitchen, helping Mary Agnes and Mary Claire finish up the last of the pickled trout, Carol was drying a pot in that efficient, smooth way women had when drying things, Grace wiping down the counter and gathering up jars filled with trout for the cold room into boxes.

"There's my harem of beauties," Merle greeted with a purr.

Carol was the only one who responded to him, beaming shyly up from her drying. "Merle, what kind of trouble are you up to now?"

"None," he returned, flopping down at the table. "As it happens, I'm heading to bed. Who wants to keep me warm tonight?"

Grace glanced over her shoulder with a grin, tsking at him. "Merle, you could charm the paint off a barn."

"Don't I know it," he returned, eyeing the woman. She had been sick lately, pale and sweaty, her stomach couldn't hold anything down, it seemed. And everyone was too polite to tell her to get her ass to St. James for a look over. He wondered if maybe it was the fish. Maybe the woman didn't like the smell and taste of fish, since she seemed put off by its very presence on her plate, giving her share to Annie to scarf down, sticking to the rice and pasta side dishes.

"What about you, cutie?" Merle winked at Mary Claire. "Want to keep this gruff man warm tonight?"

The woman flushed and hurried down into the root cellar beneath the kitchen with her load of jars.

"Merle," Mary Agnes scolded. "Behave yourself. This isn't a brothel."

"I wish it was," he went on with a wicked grin. "I'd give my left nut to see you bevy of beauties in fishnet stockings and miniskirts."

Carol laughed. "The day you see me in a miniskirt, Merle, is the day there's nothing else on earth to wear."

"I'd rather go nude," Grace insisted.

"That'll work too," Merle asserted, draping the elbow of his good arm over the back of the chair. He pointedly dragged his eyes up and down Grace's form. "Like the garden of Eden…all you need is an apple or two to tempt me with, girl."

Tsking, she tossed the fishy smelling dishrag at him and clocked him square in the face.

Merle scowled and tossed it back, only to find Carol tossing her wet dishtowel at him as well.

"Whatever, ladies," he said casually, tossing the dishtowel back at Carol. "I'm going to bed."


	2. Milk

**Wow, nice to see all your lovely faces back for more! Thanks to the reviewers, thanks to the readers and thanks to CCR for providing me with the soundtrack to eighty percent of this series.**

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**Chapter Two: Milk  
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****Carol****

Pulling a load of laundry from the machine, Carol smiled softly to herself. It was a blessing the day Milton powered on his solar panels, small things like laundry were much easier to bear when she could just load the clothes into the washing machine and allow power and well water to take care of the scrubbing.

She liked the electric lights too, especially for late night work as she was doing, deep down in a musty corner of the dormitory's cellar where they had bumped and clanked the washer and dryer they salvaged.

Before things went south, Grace said the nuns sent their laundry in using a company because they were a humble convent and couldn't afford the washing machines, but the local dry cleaners had donated their time and resources like good Catholics.

How simple things were back before the dead starting bumping about. One could call out for food, groceries even, they could send their clothes out to get washed, have someone come in and clean their home, vegetables, meat, bread, all easily accessed in one location.

She didn't really mind things now. With the dead few and far between, with things calmed between their group and others. Carol only had two wishes, that Sophia was still with her to laugh and play with the other children of the convent and that Daryl was home.

That's how content she was, that her only desires were those she loved most to come back to them safe and sound.

Rubbing her aching shoulder, she paused folding and leaned back against the dryer. Her arm still complained now and then, and full strength hadn't been returned yet, but every morning she worked it using the exercises St. James had shown her. It hurt like hell to do them, but she powered through, determined to get back to normal as soon as possible.

From what St. James told her, she was damned lucky he was there, the arm would have been lost to anyone but a trained field surgeon like him. Minimal mobility was regained one and half months after she woke up, so she was doing pretty good nearly back to one hundred percent three months later.

"Carol?" Someone called out softly from the stairs.

Looking up from her thoughts, she found Andrea wandering towards her through the narrow hall of the cellar, passing the rows and rows of canned goods, hobbling with that slight limp she had acquired from her excursions with her leg.

"I was getting some coffee when I heard the washing machine going," Andrea explained.

"Walking the wall?"

"Yeah, my shift starts in a few minutes," she said, hopping onto the washing machine and perching there.

Carol returned to her folding quietly as Andrea looked about them at the creepy cellar.

"Something eerie about a cellar under a convent," Andrea said.

Smiling as she stacked up a pile of neatly folded shirts for Merle, shirts she knew would end up in a ball in his duffle bag despite her careful folding, Carol shrugged. "I suppose it is. To be honest, when we first got here, I thought the whole place was kind of spooky. Religious places do that to me."

"Fear of God?"

"No, just…everything is so sacred and quiet." She didn't want to admit that she felt unsettled by God since the church and Sophia, not that she lost faith, but that she felt alone.

"You haven't slept in the church lately," Andrea pointed out. "Noah's a good boy, but he snores like a chainsaw."

The two women laughed at the young man. He was a sweet boy, Carol knew he wouldn't mind the teasing much.

"God willing we'll have those cabins built by winter," Andrea sighed. "A girl needs her privacy, even if she has to share a cabin with at least one other person."

"Missing your vibrator?" Carol teased.

Andrea laughed. "Oh God, yes!"

"Well, I have it on good authority that Merle's been looking for a quickie, if you need it."

Cringing, Andrea shook her head. "No offence, but I'd rather stick my tit into that old wringer," she pointed to the wooden hand wringer they used to use to dry the clothes, which now lay propped up and forgotten beside the washing machine.

"Whatever gets you off," Carol murmured.

The two women chuckled again.

"So," Andrea began when the laughter died, "how are you?"

"If one more person asks me that I'm going to stick my head in that ringer," Carol returned swiftly, adding with a sheepish smile. "I appreciate the concern, though. I'm doing okay."

Loading the freshly cleaned, dried and folded clothes into a plastic hamper, Carol started off for the stairs, Andrea moving to take the load from her.

"I have a few more months before I can't be bogged down," Carol objected.

"And I have two arms in working condition," Andrea argued. "Just never mind the gesture."

Upstairs, in the kitchen, they found St. James with Celeste, quietly singing to her as he heated her milk over the stove. He glanced over as they approached.

"Babysitting tonight?" Andrea whispered so as not to wake the half asleep baby in his arms.

"Nothing I haven't done before," he returned. "Late night laundry?"

"Best time to do it," Carol returned. "May I?" Holding out her hands, she gently lifted Celeste out of his arms, freeing them for heating the milk.

"I have to hit the wall," Andrea said, placing the hamper of clothes on the table and moving out the back door into the night.

Settling at the table, Carol cooed to Celeste lovingly and smiled.

"You know," St. James began, "I've heard medical professionals say sleep is the best thing for women in the family way."

Carol politely ignored him, softly humming to Celeste.

"Of course, I wouldn't know. I'm just an air force quack."

"I couldn't sleep," she said. "Speaking of 'none of your business', what's going on between you and Adele?"

"What do you mean?"

"You two have been weird about each other since you got here and now you're feeding her baby at night."

Scratching his chin, St. James leaned against the counter and folded his arms. "Adele is a road no man wants to go down, not with Martin somewhere out there."

"You don't think Daryl and the Lieutenant have found and killed him by now?"

"I'm saying it's been three months and if Martin still lives and breathes he will find a way to bring down the Four Horsemen upon our house. And the man found with Adele will be the first one drawn and quartered," St. James said. "I've seen Martin road haul a human being just because he wanted to wear the leader of the Bastards jacket. Do you follow me? He's not right in the head, he gets off on cruelty."

The fear in Carol's eyes must have read all the way across the kitchen, because St. James backed down sheepishly, bowing his head.

"There's nothing weird going on between Adele and I. We're just soldiers from the same foxhole. You look out for your own."

Carol smiled slightly down at Celeste. "Well, the Lieutenant would appreciate you taking good care of them."

"Adele asks about him a lot," St. James said, pulling the milk off the stove and pouring it into a bottle for Celeste. "I've heard her around the convent."

"I think she's building him up to be some great mythical figure like Achilles," Carol pointed out. "I hope she doesn't start confusing myth with reality."

"What? You mean Lieutenant Lafayette Vancoughnett the fourth hasn't won two purple hearts and a Nobel Prize for peace?" The man teased, taking Celeste from her arms to feed her.

"If he has, he's been pretty closed mouthed about it," she said with a breathy laugh, moving to wash the pot at the sink, ignoring the door which was open. People came and went so often at night in the kitchen that she didn't think anything of it.

"Actually, it was a Medal of Honor and a Pulitzer," someone said from the darkness beyond the door.

The pot fell from Carol's hand, clattering to the floor loudly, spraying remnants of milk everywhere.

The Lieutenant smiled wearily at her as he stepped into the kitchen light and added, "but I don't like to brag."

Approaching him, Carol stepped into the spilled milk, not caring one bit for it soaking through her slippers.

"Lieutenant?"

His face was gaunt and looked like it had been battered pretty rough in the last week. Stubble from at least two weeks hung heavy on his jaw and his eyes were sunk deep into his skull, giving him the look of the near dead. But there was no doubt that smile and Cajun drawl.

She leapt at him, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly, forgetting all about the slight swell to her stomach she had been trying to put off displaying.

"_Mais_, you'd think I was _your_ man," he teased, wrapping her up in his own bear hug and lifting her off her feet.

Carol pulled away enough to look him in the eye. "Daryl?"

Frowning almost curiously at her, she felt the Lieutenant knew what was up.

Instead of asking, he said simply, "he's looking for you at your cabin, _ange_. We snuck in the back way to avoid the fanfare in favour of a good night's sleep."

She felt like her face would split in two from smiling. She touched his rough cheek to ensure he was real, just to be sure. "Is he okay? Are you okay? What took you—"

"Go to him for tonight," the Lieutenant said. "We'll fill everyone in tomorrow, I'm sure."

Hugging him again tightly, she ran a hand through his hair playfully. "I'm glad you're okay, but Grace is going to kill you when she sees that beard and shag."

"Hey," he objected lightly, "at my age I'm lucky it's still as thick as it is."

Carol could hear the joke, but somewhere inside his tone was a darkness that worried her. It was as though he was covering something with laughter and smiles. Well, at least he was whole, any repairs needed doing could be done as long as he was still alive.

Almost as though she still couldn't believe it, she hugged him again, tightly, wanting to give him a decent welcome home.

He hugged her back almost desperately clinging to her.

"How is she?"

"Grace? She's…doing okay. Misses you though. And Annie does too."

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Are you okay?" She whispered.

"Yeah," he said quickly, pulling back. "Tired though."

Looking him over with a worried frown, Carol pleaded silently with him to be okay, she wanted that. She needed that to be true, instead he cleared his throat and moved sideways from her.

"Carol," he began, eyes looking at a spot just to the right of her feet. "I'm sorry. About what my daddy did…what he…you know? For what it's worth, I'm sorry I look so much like the bastard. Probably unsettles you some."

She took his hand and pressed it tightly between hers. "You may resemble him, Lieutenant, but the kindness in your eyes must have come from your mother."

Feeling like she may have broken him, Carol fell silent as he looked up at her suddenly with very downtrodden, moist grey eyes. She felt goosebumps rise at the back of her neck in startling fear for him. He looked…well, broken.

Again she squeezed his hand and offered him a kind smile. "You're a good man, Lieutenant. Any resemblance to your father ends at your looks."

Finding a small, grateful grin tugging at his mouth, she smiled broadly and released his hand. She pushed up onto her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Welcome home," she said earnestly, before turning apologetically to St. James, looking down at the mess she made with the pot.

"Go on," he insisted. "I've got it."

"Thank you," she murmured, giving the Lieutenant one last companionable squeeze to his upper arm before hurrying out into the night, heading towards her shack.

She approached it just as Daryl was emerging from inside, his large grey mutt Clyde close at his heels, lapping happily at his hand. Even in the dark she knew it was him by the way he slunk into the darkness from the soft light inside their little home.

"Daryl?" She called out to him.

He turned in time to have her launch herself against his body, catching her with a soft grunt, but holding her tight.

The smell of him, the feel, and the overall knowledge that it was him was enough to make her laugh like an idiot and hold him tighter.

"Alright, enough," he growled, pulling her against him tighter contradicting his annoyance with her. "Christ woman, you're crushing my lungs."

Pulling back far enough to run her hands over his face in the near darkness, Carol sighed. "Are you okay? What happened? Everyone…no one knew what happened with you two."

"Took us a while to track him back to Louisiana, hunting took a while more, then we killed him, the end," he said gruffly.

She knew his bare boned way of explaining things and decided she'd have to wait for the whole story from the Lieutenant in the morning. He liked a good story, so it would be pretty damned complete and detailed.

Carol remembered her stomach and pulled away completely, eyeing him in the darkness.

If he noticed, he wasn't about to say anything about it.

Taking Daryl's hand, she pulled him back into their shelter and yanked the hanging bulb light on.

Daryl eyed it quietly from the door as it swung, rocking their shadows on the walls like a bad film noir scene. "That's new."

"Milton rigged us up some power, enough for bare necessities like lighting and water pumps," she said, studying him carefully, memorizing every line and mark on his face. He didn't look any worse than he did when he left, there was none of that darkness to him that the Lieutenant carried back with him. Daryl just looked utterly exhausted and in need of a good sleep.

"What are you doing up so late? Wall duty?" He asked, moving to his bag and rummaging through the contents.

She shook her head. "Couldn't sleep, doing some laundry in the cellar. The Lieutenant, is he…? Is he okay?"

"Okay?" Daryl repeated before he stood up and shrugged. "He'll be fine. Needs rest and a good meal. We've been living on scraps on the road, barely had time to sleep."

"His father…?"

"Bastard's dead," he stated approaching her, holding something out almost shyly. "Here," he said, clearing his throat.

She took the photograph and almost dropped it. "Where'd you-?"

He shrugged. "Had enough time to swing by the quarry, dig through what we left."

Gazing down at the photograph of Sophia, Carol touched a hand to the base of her throat, resting it over the wooden rose Daryl had given her that she only took off to bathe. She appreciated that he didn't bring the whole album she had left behind with the rest of the useless junk, she didn't want to remember the way things were, but she liked the picture of Sophia.

It also broke her heart a little to see her baby so happy and smiling in the picture, but it also caused her to smile back at the picture.

"Thank you," she said.

Moving in almost shyly, he kissed her forehead quickly and moved off.

"We brought back a whole damned truckload of things," he said, flopping onto the bed. "Left it hidden in the woods at the end of the trail. Didn't want much fuss made over us."

Placing the photo in a place of honour on the old shelf she hauled in from the dorms to put her things on, Carol stepped back and admired it. They'd need to get a nice frame for it, hang it somewhere. "So, you went all the way to Louisiana?" She asked. "I've never been. Is it nice?"

Hearing no response, she turned back to find him curled up on their bed, Clyde tucked in close to his side, both sound asleep.

Smiling, Carol toed off her slippers and joined them, squishing herself in wherever she could.

Gazing at his sleeping profile for the longest time, Carol decided she loved him now more than ever. Absence did indeed make the heart grow fonder and she didn't realize how uncertain she felt without him there. Without him she felt like she was perpetually dancing on the sword's edge.

Just his presence made her sigh and her fluttering heart settle down.

Leaning over Clyde, she brushed her lips over his high cheekbone and nuzzled her face in close to his, wanting to feel him, to know he was really there.

Halfway into a deep sleep, she remembered the laundry basket on the table and made a move to rise, she'd put it away quickly and then come back.

Daryl wrapped his arms around her tightly and held her to him like she was a human sized teddy bear, giving her no option but to hope Merle forgave her for leaving his clothes in the kitchen.

_**..-~-..**_

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**itsi3 - Well, now that I know you love it when I mention the Lone Star State, I'mma bring it up as often as I can! ^_^**

**auntheddy - I'm happy that you're happy the sega continues. I thought maybe by now people would be getting bored of it.**

**vickih - I agree. I think Carol and Grace both need a lot of comforting.**

**Claire Randall Fraser - Haha! He's a lovable jackass, makes it hard to hate, but damn do you want to. ^_^**

**ArcheryLefty - Well, if he was smart enough to stick a blade there, I figured he's not above making it useful!**

**spygrrl99 - I hope to bring Merle into this one more, now that he's taking on more responsibilities.**

**Brazen Hussy - Sooon, sooon.**

**Merle's Right Hand - I hope the awesome start continues into an awesome story...**

**Surplus Imagination - I hope you enjoyed this chapter, since you were worried about the boys being away too long.**

**Yazzy x - I don't think those girls or Merle could give up on their boys. They know them too well.**


	3. Soup

**Chapter Three: Soup**

****The Lieutenant****

Figuring his girl would be sound asleep and not wanting to wake her, the Lieutenant mopped up the spilled milk and pot, then settled his bones in a chair at the kitchen table with a cup of strong instant coffee and watched the sharp featured man finish up bottle feeding the baby with him.

"Which one are you again?" He drawled after a moment.

"St. James," the man replied in his light, rasping tone.

"The medic?"

"Yes."

They fell into a tense silence.

Swirling the coffee in the mug, the Lieutenant idly struggled to connect a line of common ground with the man, but he had been living like a wild animal for so long that he forgot how to properly be social. It wasn't like riding a bike, it had to come back to him.

He remembered the first days with Daryl after he found him in the woods and brought him to the convent, how awkwardly he communicated after an entire winter of not really speaking with the nuns and trying to settle into a strange father-daughter role with Annie.

A form moved into the kitchen, making a beeline for St. James at the kitchen sink, not at all noticing him on the chair at the table.

"I woke and couldn't find her," a pretty young woman said in an accent all too familiar to St. James quietly. "Figured you must have snatched her for a feeding."

St. James' eyes flickered from her to the Lieutenant at the table and back again.

Catching the hint, the woman turned and upon recognizing the man seated there, she tensed, her spine straightening, her hands immediately brushing imaginary detritus from her nightgown.

"You've heard so much about him," St. James purred. "But allow me to introduce the infamous Lieutenant Vancoughnett."

"Infamous?" He demanded. "Is that how I'm fondly remembered around here?"

The woman blinked at him, stunned into silence.

"Lieutenant," the medic said with a small, wicked grin. "May I introduce you to Adele Deveau."

For a moment the Lieutenant sat there eyeing the woman, his chin tilting to his chest, his eyebrows lowering. His heart had stopped, time stopped.

His face must have looked right mean to her, because she cast St. James a nervous, terrified look and moved in closer to him.

Again she shifted nervously on her feet, looking to St. James for a sign.

Finally breaking his study of her, the Lieutenant took a sip of his coffee and murmured, "Adele Deveau?"

"I'm going to put Celeste back down for the night," St. James said, abandoning her with a sly grin.

Watching what could only be his little niece in a pink onesie disappear out the kitchen door, the Lieutenant mused on the moment.

Martin had referred to 'the girl' and at the time the Lieutenant was kind of in the middle of killing him, so it didn't make sense or didn't register, but he remembered now, in the middle of that goddamned mess at the Arkansas camp, how this woman seemed reluctant to leave, how she eyed him hauntingly when she thought he was busy shooting and killing.

That was the solid stuff that made Marines, especially recon, the fact that he didn't miss much.

He didn't miss that and he didn't miss Carol's swollen stomach or the way she seemed scared that he noticed it.

And he didn't miss the look of fear in Adele's eyes, that dying glimmer of rejection as she slowly crept for the exit to the kitchens.

"Adele," he called out softly to her, stopping her exodus. "Come over here and sit with me, girl."

She did so quietly, taking the chair furthest from him.

He smiled. It was a hollow shell of his old smiles, he knew, but it was better than the sullen silence he had endured for months.

"You scared of me, honey?" He asked.

"Do you hate me?" She answered his question with another question.

Reaching across the tabletop, he laid his hand over hers and said kindly, "now what kind of big brother would I be if I hated my baby sister at first sight?"

It seemed that was all the girl needed, as she literally launched herself out of her chair and slammed hard against his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck so tight he saw stars.

It felt good though. Knowing that it was his little sister hugging him, he never had one and she was better than anything he could have wanted.

"You're a _petit_ thing, aren't you?" He commented, still attached to her, feeling that she wasn't just short, but fine boned and almost frail under his arms.

"I got my height from mama," she explained, finally pulling away, but settling in a chair much closer. "You got yours from daddy, didn't you?"

The Lieutenant swallowed thickly. He may as well rip the Band-Aid off. "I killed him."

"I knew you would," she said sadly. "But he was a suffering old dog, anyways, wasn't he?"

Silent, the Lieutenant picked at a dirty wrapping of gauze around his thumb. That group in Tennessee kicked the holy shit out of them. It was close, but they got out.

"That baby in the pink blanket, that your little girl?" He asked, shifting from memories to reality.

Adele beamed brightly. "Yeah, she is."

"That, uh, St. James, he her daddy?"

"No! Oh God, no," Adele protested. "I mean…Jude's nice, but I think he has no interest, in anyone. Ever."

"So, who's the daddy, then?" He asked, instantly regretting the question as her face fell, her eyes darkened and she physically pulled back in her chair. His stomach churned at the all too familiar look of the woman. It was the same look his mama got whenever Fay tried to talk to her about his birth. "Where is he?" He asked in a tone of pure venom.

"Daddy already took care of him," Adele said.

"Adele," he said seeing the darkness lingering her face and needing to do for her what he could never do for his mother. "I will never hurt you. Ever. But any man who lays a hand on you that makes you uncomfortable, you tell me, yeah?"

Her fear faded and she smiled broadly at him. "My big brother, already protecting me."

He blinked at her, too heartbroken to find joy in that declaration.

Adele's elation died quickly and she became a timid mouse again. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know…I knew for a while about what daddy did to your mama. I'm sorry if…if I'm making you…if it's opening all kinds of forgotten doors."

"No," he said. "It's not your fault, it'll never be your fault for anything done by your father."

Reaching out, she placed a small hand over his forearm and squeezed gently. "Grace says the sins of the father are his own and not ours."

The Lieutenant nodded. "Does Grace know—"

"About us? Yes, I've been bragging to everyone," she pulled her hand away again, fearful. "You don't mind, do you? I was just so proud, everyone just seems to think so highly of you and…well Merle said that you cheated him out of a solid lay once, but—"

"You stay away from Merle Dixon, that man has one thing on his mind and it's not a hat."

Adele shrugged. "He's been very kind to me. Actually, no one here has been bad at all. Besides, Grace said she'd slap Merle through the gates of Hell if he tried anything funny with me. "

He nodded, as if expecting nothing less.

"She's your girl, isn't she? I like her, she's very pretty."

"She's _ma vie_."

Adele tilted her head. "_Ma vie_?"

"Don't you speak, girl?" He asked.

"Only a bit, words my daddy uses mostly, but…"

"Grace is my life," he translated. "We're going to have to teach you something if you want to speak."

"I'd love to learn from you," she said.

Scratching at his jaw, feeling the thick beard, he sighed and asked, "I don't suppose you know how to cut hair?"

_**..-~-..**_

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After having Adele cut his hair back to his preferred length, the woman asking him about four millions questions while she did so, after washing up and shaving, he moved through the dorms quietly, passing a silently startled Sister Mary Claire, who was heading into the kitchens.

She mouthed _Lieutentant_ as though reminding herself who it was that was passing her by.

He tapped her mouth closed on his way by and paused at Grace's door to look back at the woman.

She was still standing where she had stopped, watching him with wide eyes.

Quietly he pushed on into Grace's room, setting his pack down slowly, mindful of the clink it made when dropped too hard.

She was sleeping on the cot with Annie and Boo tucked in at her side, her arm draped protectively over Annie, her mouth dropped open a little in deep sleep. Boo opened her eyes and took him in, registering him as an old friend, she scrambled to get off the bed, coming up to greet him.

"Quiet," he warned her gently.

The short, stubby dog with the floppy ears jumped up at his legs happily and he scooped her up to please her and keep her quiet.

After a few minutes of letting her squirm and lick him, he set her down, carefully unrolling his bedroll on the floor, he struggled to get to his knees, feeling old before his time. Halfway down, he spied a bottle on the narrow table beside Grace's bed and picked it up.

"Ambien," he mouthed, before setting the half empty bottle back.

On hands and knees, he peered over at the cot beside him and found a pair of ocean green eyes open and narrowed at him.

"Magpie," he greeted. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Carefully climbing out of the bed, mindful of Annie, Grace pulled her housecoat on over her pretty white nightgown and stood before him quietly.

Tucking Annie back in for Grace, the Lieutenant smiled down at the girl and stood up, following his girl out the door.

"Look," he began once they were in the hall, "I know I—"

She cut him off, launching into his arms, mouth against his.

Hissing, he pushed her away gently.

"Oh, your lip," she said apologetically, touching the wound gingerly.

"Aw, fuck it," he murmured, drawing her hard against him, falling back against the wall outside her room. He lifted her off her feet and kissed her good and proper, ignoring the pain to his cut.

But goddamn she was moving against him like a living sin. Where a nun learned to move like that, he'd never know, but he loved that she did.

He had forgotten how delicate and small she was. His little _jolie catin_.

No, if he had his way he'd be going no further than her bed from here on out.

Needing to breathe, he pulled his face away from hers and laughed. "God," he breathed, "you're still just the prettiest thing I've ever seen."

Sighing, she backed away from him. "You look like you've skipped a few meals. Daryl's not-?"

"He's fine. Probably pinning Carol to the bed as we speak," he said.

Tsking at his crude supposition, she took him by the hand and led him back towards the kitchen. "I'll fix you up something to eat."

"I just want to sleep, _beb_," he protested.

"Eat first, fill your belly, then sleep as long as you need," she said in that tone that brooked no argument.

_**..-~-..**_

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Sitting at the table as Grace fixed him a pot of canned vegetable soup, he idly pulled his knife from its sheath and sharpened it as he waited.

"So," she began, standing over the pot, stirring the soup.

"What's Ambien and which one of you is taking it?" He cut her off softly.

"St. James said it would help Annie get some sleep."

"How bad is it?"

"Every night without the Ambien," she returned, still stirring the soup.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he sighed.

"She hurt herself so badly one night, squirming and screaming, that she slammed her forehead into the wall. I thought something needed to be done. They found some odds and ends of medication last chemical run Rick made, so St. James thought it'd be best."

"She doesn't just need medication, Gracie, she needs therapy as well."

"She's been getting that, Milton's been sitting with her and talking and St. James has been fairly helpful as well. But none of us are licensed psychologists."

"But that's it? She's otherwise okay, healthy?"

"Yes, honey."

The Lieutenant paused, eyeing the woman's form from behind, sweeping his gaze up and down her from floor to hair. "And you? You look pale."

"Stomach bug."

He narrowed his eyes at her back, but accepted her explanation. "Carol, ah, she's…how is she?"

"How do you think she is?" Grace inquired.

"_Mais, elle se sent comme si elle avaient des rêves de serpents_."

"What?"

"Down on the bayou we'd say she feels like she dreamt of snakes."

"Snakes?"

"I believe _Texians_ eloquently say 'preggers'."

Grace spun around from the soup quickly and eyed him with wide, panicked eyes.

He nodded. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Enough idle gossip," she commanded gently, turning back to the soup under his hard gaze. "Let's talk about where you've been and what you've been doing?"

"We passed by a beautiful church in Alabama, a small town. It was someplace called Auburn, heading for Meridian, Mississippi on that stretch of road. Thought you'd like it. Saw a few churches," he admitted. "Funny how you never notice churches and then suddenly…they're everywhere. I think this one was Presbyterian, pretty little thing though."

Turning from the soup, she eyed him, striking a beautiful pose, her body angled at the hip, her back straight, chin level. The electric lighting illuminated her long, graceful neck and shined her glossy dark hair, highlighting the strands of silver that threaded through it. "Don't blind me with tales, lover," she said firmly. "What happened to you out there?"

"Everything," he returned.

"You've never been cryptic in your life," she teased, giving the soup one last stir, before approaching him. "Did you find your father?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to start keeping everything from me or just that story?" She inquired, moving to slide onto the chair beside him, the one Adele had occupied only hours before.

"What do you want to hear, magpie? That I killed him? How I killed him? That I liked it, but cried like a baby that night? That some nights I still wake up crying because of that son of a bitch?"

"I want to hear everything," she said. "I want to be standing there where you were, in your shoes."

"Better make some coffee then, _beb_," he said, getting to his feet to put the kettle on, knowing full well the entire time he was doing it that she was watching him.

"You're limping," she said.

"Just feeling old," he replied, glancing at her over his shoulder. "You know Adele is my sister?"

"Of course, but we're talking about you right now."

Filling the kettle, he nodded.

"So it took us a month and a half to wade through Alabama and Mississippi," he began, easing down at the table with her. "Hard tracking a man who doesn't want to be found, but I knew he was coward enough to go back home, try to find more _couyons_ to back him. Come back to Georgia and TCOB, but Daryl's a hell of a tracker and I'm not a slouch, so we followed him. Lake Charles, Louisiana, little colony of survivors there, mighty helpful, not very friendly, but when we explained…found him camping out in an old gas station. Daryl said to use Marie, to pin him with my rifle from the trees when he came out to piss or whatever he needed to do, but I…wanted him to know who was killing him. Maybe I wanted to talk to him, or…resolve something, I don't know. That old bastard put up a hell of a fight, but when it was done…came home the long way, avoiding Alabama and Mississippi, mostly because we were kindly told by survivors there to stay out of their territory, we ended up in Tennessee and had a hell of a time there."

"You skipped the part where you killed your father," she said.

"No," he protested. "I told you all you need to know about that."

"You didn't tell me how," she insisted.

"Does it matter?"

"It does," she stated firmly.

Getting to his feet, he moved off across the kitchen to lean against a counter.

Grace picked up the knife he was sharpening. "With this knife?"

"No."

"Your rifle?"

"I don't see why you need to know how I did it," he growled. "It was done. The end."

"I just want to know what kind of animal you've come back as."

"Gracie," he began.

"Did you make him suffer?"

"No!"

"Then it was quick?"

"Please don't do this right now," he moved, paced agitatedly. "Just…not now."

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's still my job to worry about your soul."

He continued to pace.

She approached him, stopping his pacing with a gentle hand on his chest. "I'm sorry. I was being hard on you. But…I'm worried."

"My soul is fine. God won't lose any sleep over that monster's death."

"I don't mean about your soul, I mean about the whole package." She said. "I happen to love the package, so I'm deeply invested in it."

"The package is fine. The package will be just fine."

"But you cried that night?" She asked.

He swallowed thickly. "Stir the soup, _beb_. I'll get the mugs for coffee."

Grace hesitated, looking up at him with that hard, silently disappointed look she perfected from years of being raised Catholic and he gripped her tight, resting his forehead against hers.

"Look, you'll be the first and only person I ever talk to about it, but not for a while, yeah? I just want to be home and be here for now."

"Okay," she said after a moment, leaning up and kissing his cheek. "For now we'll put a pin in it."

"Thank you."

"You know," she said, moving to the stove to stir the soup. "I do love you. Very much."

"I know," he replied. "That greeting you gave me was a pretty clear indicator. Oh!" He patted his many pockets. "I, uh, went home."

"Back to Basile?"

"Yeah, figured I was in the neighbourhood, why not? I hadn't been there since a few months before I wound up here…so, it wasn't so infested. Ah, hang on," he struggled to pull something from his pants pocket. "Had a hell of a time getting into the old bank vault in Basile for this, _Mamere_ stowed it there for a rainy day in her safety deposit box."

"If you pull a ring out of that pocket I'm going to…what is that?"

He held up a lumpy looking thing with a broad smile. "You telling me you've never seen a John the Conqueror root before?"

"Your grandmother stored a root in a safety deposit box at the bank?"

"_Mais_, among other things. This root, I'll thank you very much, belonged to the very first Lafayette in the long, proud line of Vancoughnett's."

"It looks like doody," she said, pouring the soup into a bowl for him.

Frowning, he tucked the root back into his pocket. "What would you have done if it was a ring?"

"Slapped you," she pointed out, setting his bowl of steaming soup down and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"Why?"

"Because now's not the time."

"Alright then," he reached into his pocket, withdrew a ring box and threw it carelessly into a dark corner of the kitchen. "Don't need that."

Grace laughed.

"Actually," he got to his feet mildly panicked, "_Mamere_ would slap my eyeballs from their sockets for throwing her rings about…"

Grace laughed harder at the cringing face he made when he checked on the rings in the box.

Sitting at the table, he dug into his soup happily. It had been months since he had a hot meal, and even though it was canned soup it was the most delicious thing he had eaten.

"Well?" She asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Hm?" He inquired with a full mouth.

"Aren't you going to give me one of those rings?"

Swallowing, he took the box off the table and tucked it back in his pocket. "No, you said it's not the time."

She tsked at the smug grin he flashed her. "Okay, hoochie-coochie man, if that's the way it's going to be."

He eyed her long and hard for a moment. "Did you just reference Muddy Waters?"

Grace blinked at him calmly.

"God damn, I love you."

"Eat your soup," she returned casually.

_**..-~-..**_

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**The Cajun Dialect**

**A Cajun superstition states that if a woman dreams of snakes she'll become pregnant.**

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**Guest **- All very good questions...we'll have to wait and see...

**auntheddy **- I really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, appreciate the review!

**HGRHfan35 **- Look at you all caught up and stuff! ^_^ Welcome to the here and now.

**Merle's Right Hand **- Yup.

**itsi3 **- I'm glad you mentioned the medication. I was hoping someone would say something.

**Yazzy x** - I know it was cheesy, but I felt like I wanted Carol to have a picture of Sophia for her new home, since they're settling in so well.

**vickih **- You know I love these boys too much to keep away from them for so long!

Surplus Imagination - I'm glad that you picked up on Daryl remaining unchanged. He's the type that could go to hell and back and shrug it off physically (though perhaps not mentally).


	4. Oatmeal

**You are all getting an early update, because some beautiful person nominated this series over on thecaryldaily on tumblr...I don't know why anyone would nominate this silly fic, but you have no idea how grateful I am. You're all such beautiful people and never once have I felt hate from any of you. Precious marvelous creatures you are.**

**Anyways, this early update is my way of thanking each and every one of you.**

**Thank you.**

* * *

**Chapter Four: Oatmeal**

****Daryl****

There was a pair of pretty pathetic brown eyes peering at him from under a fringe of grey hair when he finally opened his own. Rubbing a hand over his face first, before patting Clyde on the head and gently shoving the drooling, panting face out of his, Daryl scowled at the bright sunlight that was pouring in through the window.

He felt stiff and sore, like he had slept for forty years.

Staggering out of the shed, with Clyde close at his heels, he scanned the convent grounds for signs of intelligent life.

A chicken darted across his path, chased by Annie who seemed intent on catching the bird, not just chasing it.

Scowling in the direction she had come from, he found that young boy Nadir standing by a wire chicken yard, ushering chickens into it.

Spying Fay approaching him from the shady side of the dorms, Daryl pointed curiously to the birds.

Looking somehow equally confused, the man pointed to Daryl's left where a cow had been tied to the peach tree by the infirmary.

They both met halfway.

"The hell's going on around here?"

"The chickens I get, but that fucking cow doesn't seem right."

"Daryl! Lieutenant!" Rick shouted from near the gates, calling out across the convent grounds, attracting attention like a motherfucker.

"Fuck," Daryl muttered.

"Yeah, I've been avoiding this all morning," Fay murmured. "You want to debrief him?"

Shaking his head firmly once, Daryl looked about again. "You see Carol?"

"Church, they're setting up for school," Fay said with a grin as Rick jogged over, turning the man forced a smile. "Rick, good to see you still around."

"Nice to see you're back," the man returned. "Can I have a word?"

"I'll, uh, fill you in," Fay said, clapping Daryl on the shoulder and leaning in to whisper. "Why don't you go find Carol?"

He nodded.

"Uh, hey, do me a favour, _cabri_?" Fay stopped him, again keeping it between them with soft words. "Ask her how long Grace has had this…stomach bug of hers, yeah?"

"Stomach bug?" Daryl demanded.

Casting a cautious look at Rick, Fay motioned Daryl a little further away from him.

"You…ah…how's Carol?"

Frowning, Daryl demanded, "what?"

"Never mind, we'll talk after I go over things with Rick."

Still narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Fay, Daryl nodded and moved off, frowning to himself as he wandered towards the church.

"Hey, Daryl," Andrea called out from the dormitory stoop. "Good to have you back!"

He kept walking, not used to having anyone notice his comings or goings.

"About time," Michonne purred as she passed him by, coming from the church.

Jesus, if this was the attention he was going to get from going away, then he was going to plant his ass and never move.

Inside the church, Carol was kneeling beside Milton and St. James who were setting up a couple of pilfered looking old style desks, she was sorting through some books.

Both men looked up as he approached and almost jumped to their feet, glancing at Carol, who smiled calmly at him and set the books back in the box.

"We, ah…" Milton began, looking to St. James to complete that thought.

St. James frowned somewhat at Milton, before saying smoothly. "Have things to do."

"Science things," Milton added.

"Just go," Daryl growled.

As the two men beat cheeks to the door, Carol stood up with a small grin.

"You need to stop scaring people," she teased, reaching out and playfully forcing a smile on his face. "Put a smile on."

He looked her up and down, feeling like he didn't get a good chance the night before. He wouldn't have noticed anything amiss, if it wasn't for her eyes when his gaze returned to her face, then he took a second, good long look and realized she seemed…well, he was never one to complain about a woman gaining weight.

Feeling like he shouldn't say anything, he idly kicked a desk and said, "school, huh?"

"We don't want simple kids," she returned. "Speaking of children, you…better come sit down with me."

He allowed her to take his hand and pull him in the direction of a nearby pew, worried by the tone of her voice.

"I'm glad you're back," she began.

"Yeah well, almost didn't make it, but here we are," he muttered, looking her over again.

"Daryl," she began, "Do you remember what it was like with Lori? Being pregnant in the winter? On the run? Always hungry?"

He looked her over again, mind snapping some sense into him and instantly his spine straightened and he tensed, eyes falling to her stomach, concealed under a flowy red top. Not once when he first saw her weight gain, did he think of that, because she said it was impossible, couldn't happen. He felt a sense of vertigo take control of his body and sat still, worried that if he moved he'd make a fool of himself.

Normally, he knew what needed to be done and did it.

Never had he been so panicked about not knowing what to do.

She looked over at him calmly. "Thank God, we have this convent." Squeezing his hand, Carol went on still just as serenely as though she were reading him the phonebook. "St. James said I'll need a caesarian, but otherwise it should be just fine."

Daryl remained still on the outside, but inside he was bouncing off the walls with panic.

This wasn't supposed to happen. It shouldn't.

What did normal men do under this kind of information? He didn't even know how to react, how to respond. How could he? He didn't know quite how he felt about the information.

Jesus.

"Well," Carol said with a sigh, tapping his knee playfully. "Now you know."

She got up and returned to the box of books, leaving him to process the information in still silence in the pew where she left him.

His mind broke the situation down to basics. Carol was pregnant and he was…not a good idea for a father, but…well maybe he could pull it off, his old man was shit, but at least he had a good example of how not to be a dad.

But shit, what if it was a girl?

He wasn't good with children in general, but a daughter? What the hell did a father do with a daughter when she got older and the boys…and periods and then marriage? Jesus, sex talks and...oh fuck, boys.

He felt sick.

Holy fuck, God help him if he was still alive for all of that. He prayed it would be a boy, he knew boys. He could handle a boy.

Okay, he reasoned with himself, trying to calm down before he made an ass of himself. A kid, everyone and their dogs had babies…it was natural order. Besides, Carol was a good mother, she'd fill the void he left in raising the kid.

Yeah, she wasn't some dumb barmaid he knocked up like the one Merle got in Savannah, no Carol was good. Carol had practice being a mom.

"Okay," he said finally. "What do we need to do?"

She smiled down at the books. "Just what we're doing. But I'm not going anywhere with this child, I can't live on the road like Lori did. It'll wear me out."

Daryl nodded. "Okay, so…we stay here."

Suddenly it struck him, Rick's desperate need to take the prison, it wasn't his own safety which drove him. At the time it was Lori.

Recalling how badly that ended, coupled with the dangerous men and women he and Fay had come across on the road outside of Georgia, resolved Daryl to protecting the convent more than ever.

"Okay," he said again. "Do you…do I get you anything?"

"Not right now, thanks."

Standing awkwardly, he chewed on a hangnail and tried to figure out what to say or do then. Just walking out didn't seem right. Nervously, he dropped to one knee and leaned over to give her a kiss.

He wanted to say something more to her, but Annie and Nadir burst into the church then, laughing and yapping and Daryl stood up quickly, helping Carol to her feet.

"It'll be okay," he assured her, before reluctantly pulling away.

She nodded. "I know. With you it will be."

He offered her a small smile and turned to leave, before returning and whispering. "Fay wanted me to ask you about this bug of Grace's."

Carol leaned in close to avoid having the children hear. "What? Her month long flu bug? Tell the Lieutenant to ask her himself. It's conversation they need to have, not us."

"Yeah," he muttered, "we already had ours."

Smiling, she playfully hip checked him and gently pushed him towards the door.

_**..-~-..**_

* * *

___**..-~-..**_

Grabbing some breakfast from the kitchens, quickly, Daryl emerged into the rose garden from the kitchen door and nearly toppled his brother.

"Hey, baby bro," Merle greeted smugly.

"Fuck off, Merle, I already know," Daryl growled, knowing exactly why his brother was so smug.

"Sperm so powerful it can impregnate the un-impregnable," Merle taunted with a wide grin. "That's pure Dixon, I taught you well."

"You taught me shit all," Daryl snapped, snacking on his bowl of oatmeal with his bare hand.

"Taught you to use rubbers, didn't I?"

"Yeah, after you caught the clap, dumb ass."

"Yeah well, I was piss-drunk at the time."

"You were always piss-drunk." Daryl returned as they rounded the corner of the dorms, heading for where Fay and Rick were talking at the end of the garden. "The clap. Three times," he added, "from the same woman."

"She had tits like honeydews and an ass that could whip up a tsunami everytime she hit the ocean," Merle argued. "You don't pass that up."

"Just say 'no', Merle," Fay pointed out as Rick stormed off in a bit of a tizzy.

"What'd you tell him?"

"Everything, that man doesn't like the truth," the Lieutenant said, stealing some of Daryl's oatmeal with a smirk.

"What's the truth?" Merle demanded.

"There's not a single place that does fried chicken on the way to Lake Charles," Fay returned with a grin.

"I will punch you in your nuts if you don't spill it," Merle growled.

"Rick was hoping there'd be places left to loot for food and ammo, there isn't," Fay pointed out calmly. "Everywhere in the five states we've been to has been looted and picked clean."

Merle nodded. "Well, the truth is if we don't up our game, some of us might starve come winter."

Daryl looked over at his brother, then to the Lieutenant.

"What about the game? You've been hunting at all?" Daryl asked.

"There ain't no game, nothing," Merle said. "We've been fishing and picking over the land, but the truth is, I'm hoping we don't catch anything. If we kill off the last surviving deer, there'll be none for a long, long time."

"Well," the Lieutenant said with a sigh, "what we did come across is in the truck parked at the end of the trail. Rick's going to get it now."

"Maybe I'll head out with him," Merle said, moving off after Rick.

Daryl shifted in close to Fay to watch his brother trail after Rick with a frown.

"The fuck happened here?" He demanded. "Merle and Rick have never gotten along."

"Things are fucked all over," Fay agreed.

Behind them the cow mooed.

"I'm gonna be a daddy," Daryl said awkwardly.

"I know. You scared?"

"Nope," Daryl lied.

Turning to him, Fay smirked. "Bullshit."

The men were silent, Daryl uncomfortably aware that Fay was eyeing him.

"For what it's worth, _cabri_, I think you'd make a very good daddy."

Giving him a suspicious, disbelieving look, Daryl was about to walk off, when the Lieutenant added.

"You may not have patience, but you make up for it in strength and heart. That baby'll want nothing with you around as a daddy. I'm very happy for you, brother."

In silence, Daryl chewed thoughtfully, almost nervously on a hangnail. "So? What do I do?" He asked almost sheepishly.

"Love them. Let them know you love them, most importantly. You'll do what's right, you always do."

Wanting to just take the compliment, Daryl's inner demon caused him to snort in response and shake his head.

The Lieutenant smirked a little, almost like he expected nothing less from Daryl. "So? Did you ask about Grace?"

"Carol thinks you should talk to her."

Fay tilted his head. "Naw, tried that. Hang on," curling his tongue and tucking his fingers into his mouth, he whistled, catching the attention of St. James and Milton who were heading for the church.

Both men turned.

Fay pointed to St. James and motioned him over.

"I'm flattered," the man said as he stopped before them, "but I think you've got the wrong idea."

"I'm going to ask you a question, you answer like a smart ass and I'll shoot you in your face," the Lieutenant said.

Daryl frowned. Since the road back from Louisiana the man had taken on a bit of a mean streak that almost terrified him. Not because he was scared of Fay, but _for_ Fay.

"How long has Grace been sick?"

St. James eyed first Fay, then Daryl. "I don't know. She never came to me about it."

"That's not the answer I wanted to hear."

"Then shoot me in my face," St. James challenged flatly, leaning in just a little bit. "What I can tell you, from observing, is that no one I've ever known has been sick for over a month without it being serious."

"How serious?" Fay demanded.

"I don't know, Lieutenant. I don't just give people random checkups, they have to actually come to me, you know."

"Daryl, does that sound like a smart assed answer to you?" The Lieutenant asked.

"Pretty smart assed for a new guy," Daryl answered.

"New guy?" St. James demanded. "I've been here for three months, where the hell have you two been?"

"Listen here you little shit," Fay began.

"No, you listen you big piece of Cajun sputum," St. James cut him off. "I don't know you and I don't care, but if you whistle for me like a dog and then threaten me again, I'll put your ass in a meat grinder."

Daryl stepped in for Fay, pushing the man back by invading his space. He didn't do anything but stare down the medic.

The man only stepped back once, before he drew himself together with a deep inhale and leaned forward, getting into Daryl's space.

It was Fay breaking them apart that finally ended the stare down. A small grin flickered across the Lieutenant's lips, before he nodded. "Alright, I'm sorry. My bad."

Long after the medic left them, Daryl glowered at Fay who continued to smirk a little.

"I like him," the Cajun said finally. Noticing the glare, he beamed wider. "What? If he's going to be hanging around my baby sister then I had to make sure he had what it took to keep them safe." Fay lightly tapped him in the nuts with the back of his hand and chuckled.

"What?" Daryl asked.

"Oh, yeah, I have a little sister," Fay announced proudly, changing his tune when he spied Daryl's face change, "which…you knew about."

"Sorry. I didn't…I couldn't find a good time to…fuck, man! I don't dish shit like that out."

The Lieutenant nodded. "Yeah, I know. You're not the type. You're more of a father figure type," he added with a broad grin.

"Fuck off," Daryl murmured, somehow embarrassed by people thinking of him like that.

"You gonna start giving out hugs and kissing boo-boos, yeah? Pulling _peekons_ from little toesies?"

Giving the Marine a hard shove, Daryl hid his small, proud smile by turning his head to watch Adele and the others in the garden. When he turned his head back he caught that haunted look hanging about the Lieutenant's eyes and his joy flickered and sputtered like a dying candle.

Daryl knew exactly what the man was thinking, he even heard Fay saying it in his Cajun drawl inside his head.

_Just be good or she'll have to hunt you like an animal and put you down._

It was at that moment that Daryl wanted to say something he had never said to a man before, not even his daddy, he wanted Fay to know how much Daryl needed him back, how Daryl needed him to come back from Louisiana and that gas station they tracked Martin to.

But Daryl would never say anything like that, even if he wanted.

No one would ever know that inside the mojo bag Fay had given him, along with that black cat bone, some graveyard dirt, a Cherokee rose and a dash of salt, he had put the embroidered nametag Fay had handed over to him.

No, no one would ever know, because like the mojo bag, these were things Daryl kept close to his heart on a tenuous cord of leather.

Unlike everyone else, Daryl knew how the sins of the father could reflect on a child, but it wasn't just Martin's sins inside Fay that he worried, but his mother's as well. She had been manically depressed, disordered of mind and body and some days, especially since Louisiana, Daryl worried that Fay was carrying some of his mother's burden inside him.

Looking at him, catching Daryl's unguarded concern, Fay's face instantly changed and shifted into one of complete understanding.

It was amazing how they had gotten eerily able to read each other in the three months with just themselves versus almost the entire Deep South.

"I'll be fine, _cabri_. No bullshit."

Daryl nodded.

"I'm getting married," Fay went on. "You still gonna be my best man?"

"Yeah."

"You gonna wear a suit?"

"You want your balls tapped by the toe of my boot?"

"Sounds sexy. Can we cuddle after?"

"Fuck off, dumb ass."

Clapping him on the shoulder, the Lieutenant chuckled. "Come on, brother, let's go make ourselves useful." He suggested, gently guiding Daryl in the direction of where they were clearing trees beyond the wall. "Stay away from that cow though," he added as they walked off. "Never trusted them."

_**..-~-..**_

* * *

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_**..-~-..**_

**vickih -**** Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed the Lt. and his sister moment.**

**Claire Randall Fraser - If you loved those two updates, this fast update will really blow your mind. ^_^**

**itsi3 - Erg, you broke my heart. I will miss writing this series so badly, all my readers and reviewers are such sweet people, I'll missing interacting with them when it ends.**

**HGRHfan35 - I hate it when either of the boys suffers, but it seems to hit harder when it's the Lt. because he's always is happy and jovial.**

**Merle's Right Hand - I think I need a hug.**

**Yazzy x - I'm glad you enjoy the Lace feels. Now I hope you enjoy the Daryl/Lt. brotp feels in this chapter. Because I almost cried writing it.**

**Surplus Imagination -I firmly believe the Lt. is terrified of Grace.**


	5. Blackened Catfish

**Chapter Five: Willow Bark  
**

****Carol****

Heading for the dorms with the books they didn't need, intent on storing them in the cellar for the time, Carol was feeling pretty good. Daryl took the news better than she thought, she was expecting him to push her away and then come back after he stewed, but he seemed…different since coming home.

She couldn't put it into words. It wasn't bad different, only like he mellowed or made peace with something.

"Today I started loving you again."

Hearing the singing before she came upon the scene, Carol peeked around the corner of the dorms into the rose garden and found Beth and Adele sitting on a stone bench with Judith and Celeste in their arms respectively, the Lieutenant and Daryl at their feet cleaning their weapons. She paused, enjoying Beth's soft, sweet tone, setting the box down. It seemed Beth had been singing to Judith, but the men had wandered over for lack of anything better to listen to.

"And I'm right back, where I really, always been. I got over you, just long enough, to let my heartache mend. And then today I started loving you again."

"What a fool I was to think I get by," the Lieutenant joined in with his deep, baritone. He sang with Cajun soul and it brought a smile of appreciation to Carol's lips.

"With only these few million tears I've cried," he went on beautifully. "I should have known the worst was yet to come. And the crying time for me, had just begun."

Beside the Lieutenant, Daryl smiled to himself and Carol could see he was secretly enjoying the serenade.

"Well, today I started loving you again. And I'm right back where I really, always been," the two sang together in a haunting harmony. "I got over you, just long enough to let my heartache mend. And today, I started loving you again."

Moving in close, mindful not to disturb them, Carol took a seat on another stone bench, setting the box beside her and listened calmly. She loved Merle Haggard so much and they were doing him justice.

She covered a laugh as the Lieutenant leaned too close to Judith and she caught his nose in her little chubby hand. Touching a hand to her stomach, she watched Daryl who quietly worked.

She'd be a fool to say that she didn't think about what kind of father he'd be. She thought long and hard about it, she knew he'd surprise her. Daryl was made up of contradictions.

The thought came to her that the Lieutenant was probably the genius who decided to sit with the babies and she figured he was trying to get Daryl used to one.

It was sweet and she appreciated his efforts, but Daryl seemed more intent on his work than Judith.

Setting down his rifle, the Lieutenant took Celeste and pulled her into his lap, holding her gently and singing down to her with a grin.

Maybe it was true that Carol was a little excited to have a baby. She always wanted a large family, but Sophia had been a hard birth. This one though, she glanced at the church behind her.

This one seemed like a miracle.

When she looked back at the scene, the Lieutenant was blowing raspberries on Celeste's little tummy and the baby was squealing with delight, kicking her feet and wriggling.

Looking over, she found Daryl holding up his finger for Judith to squeeze it, a genuine grin on his face.

Maybe the Lieutenant's plan was working. But unlike the Lieutenant, who seemed eager to attack the baby he held with tickles and kisses, Daryl quietly showed affection to Judith, stroking her soft cheek with a rough finger.

It amazed her how the two men were inseparable, but so different. Honestly, it shocked her that Daryl even let the Lieutenant in, they had such polar personalities.

Maybe it was the way the Lieutenant seemed to understand Daryl, seemed to know how to diffuse and calm him or maybe it was on Daryl's end, how the man grounded the somewhat flighty and overly zealous Marine.

In that aspect, Carol saw Daryl as a calm, faithful hound that seemed to just slink about, but would defend his master at an instant, whereas the Lieutenant was like a German Shepard, who followed the master about, tongue flopped out of his mouth, panting happily.

But then again, oddly enough, there were aspects of one another in each man. Daryl had the same faithful characteristic the Lieutenant had, only his was better hidden, concealed by skulking in and around those he cared about, never approaching, but always watching, and at times the Lieutenant could have Daryl's astute observation, where he would calm and quieten down and those grey eyes of his wouldn't miss a thing.

Maybe the two men got on so well because they counterbalanced one another, because in a way they were both so broken and damaged by their daddies. Yet, unknowingly to them, they were complete men. Far superior to their father's, rounded perfectly and made in the image of a righteous man.

No, she didn't doubt for an instant that Daryl would be a good father. He had all the raw makings, he just needed a little nudging.

Then again, she thought, eyeing the Lieutenant as he pretended to be attacked by Celeste, holding her to his chest and feigning pain, since Daryl seemed to only listen to one voice of reason and it happened to be a tall Cajun Marine, Daryl would have good guidance when it came to being fatherly. She couldn't teach him how to be a father, she only had practice in being a mother, but maybe the Lieutenant would steer him in the right direction when Daryl needed it.

Of course, their child would have a good uncle in the Lieutenant. And, to be honest, the way Merle was going, she had no doubt the child would have a good uncle in Merle too.

Though she'd have to remember to warn Merle about his language, Annie was already spouting off at full tilt when she got mad and everyone knew it was Merle's doing.

Deciding she lingered long enough, Carol picked up her box and moved towards the men, pausing to run her hand over Daryl's head, through his hair, the box resting on her hip as she did so.

"Hey girl," he murmured in greeting. "Need me to take that?" He asked, jerking his chin at the box.

"No. You have wonderful entertainment," she said, motioning to Beth and the Lieutenant.

"Yeah? Except for that Cajun caterwauling."

The Lieutenant jerked his chin to his chest.

"I happen to think the Lieutenant has a very fine singing voice," Carol stuck up for the man playfully.

"Ooh, Daryl, better watch yourself," the Lieutenant teased. "I'm in your girl's eye now."

Carol laughed.

"I think he's a good singer too," Adele said.

The woman had adored her brother before she even met him and now Carol could see she worshipped him, it was nice to see and everyone knew the stars would fade in her eyes enough for her to get over her hero worship of him and settle into a more sisterly frame of mind. The Lieutenant could be the only man who would know how to deal with a woman who had been through what Adele had been through and that was a great comfort to Carol.

"You two can start a damned fan club then," Daryl muttered.

"We can call it the Cajun in Khaki Fanclub," Carol returned with a sly grin aimed at the Lieutenant's sister.

"We can have hats," Adele added, getting in on the joke.

"And I'll make t-shirts," Carol went on, nudging Daryl playfully with her knee in his back.

"Ooh, we can invite Michonne and Beth, maybe Grace," Adele exclaimed.

"Michonne?" Daryl demanded.

Ignoring him, Carol shrugged. "I don't know about Grace, she'd probably want to know why anyone would want to be in such a fanclub."

"That's true," the Lieutenant declared, handing Celeste back to her mother so that he could bend his head back to his work. "You know my girl well enough."

"What about Mrs. Douglas?" Beth got in on the discussion. "I heard her say once that if she was fifty years younger she'd be all over the Lieutenant."

"Hell," the Lieutenant said with a grin, "my girl gives the okay, she could still have me. I'm not fussy."

"You're a goddamned criminal disgrace," Daryl spat with a sparkle to his blue eyes.

"Yeah, a criminal disgrace with a fanclub, _cabri_."

"Dahmer had fangirls who wrote to him in prison too," Daryl shot back.

___**..-~-..**_

* * *

_____**..-~-..**_

She joined Rick and Merle as they handed out goodies from the back of the moving van Daryl and the Lieutenant had brought back with them. Things like baby supplies, clothes, a few boxes of decent homemade canned goods from country cellars, sacks of cracked corn and oats and wheat almost as though they planned on trading with Delgado's group for things.

At the back of the van's storage bed, there were several pieces of furniture for use around the convent.

Joining Grace who was hauling boxes of things out onto the lawns for people to go through and sort, Carol smirked at her own box of what looked like fishing and hunting gear, camouflage netting, ammunition reloading tools, a few hooks and spoons and rolls of line in a plastic tackle box.

There was only one thing that had a tag on it as claimed, a BB gun which Merle handed off to Grace with a twinkle in his eye.

"Here," he rasped, "that Cajun tagged it. You give it to him."

Grace looked at the gun and the BB's in a jar provided with a frown, but nodded.

Carol knew exactly who was going to be using that gun for training, it was the only thing light enough for her to learn on, wouldn't knock her into the dirt with the kickback.

"What's this?" Karen asked, pulling out a kit from within a box she was sorting.

Carol took it and looked it over. "It's…something to test water, I think."

"For the well water," Daryl said as he joined them with the Lieutenant close behind. "Thought we should test it now and then if we're going to be drinking from it."

"Ooh, tampons! Jackpot!" Sasha exclaimed happily as she opened an entire box packed with boxes of tampons.

Daryl flushed bright red.

"Think of me fondly when you use them," the Lieutenant said with a grin, grunting as Grace knocked him hard with a box on her way by. "What?" He demanded of her innocently. "I nearly had my ass chewed off by an uggie for them."

"It's true," Daryl murmured to her, "I remember him screaming 'this ain't the way I want to die' as he was covered in tampon boxes and one hungry assed walker."

"I didn't scream," the Lieutenant argued sheepishly. "I just didn't want to die covered in tampons. Could you imagine?"

"Try dying with one inside you," Michonne said with a small grin as she passed with a box of her own.

The men present gave a pause, before Rick cleared his throat, "back to work."

"Yep," Merle returned, climbing back into the truck.

Carol could hear the Lieutenant mutter, as he knelt beside Daryl, "I'd hate to be the mortician that has to pull the plug on that drain."

"So, what's it like out there?" Michonne asked the two men as they helped sort through the boxes. "Outside of Georgia?"

"Militants in Tennessee, biker gangs in Mississippi, rednecks in Alabama—"

"_Couyons_ in Louisiana," Daryl broke in quickly with a sly grin cast towards Carol.

The Lieutenant nodded. "Not to mention the amazons. Tribe of nothing but women."

"No form of government anywhere? No one in charge?" Carol asked.

"Oh, lots of chefs in the kitchen, but no politicians," the Marine returned. "It'd almost be blissful if it wasn't so damned depressing."

"The closest we came to was the militants in Tennessee," Daryl pointed out. "A bunch of US Army meatheads trying to bully people into joining up. Seem to think it's Marshall Law now, you're either with them or against them."

"You didn't join with them, honey?" Grace asked the Lieutenant.

He pulled his nose out of a box of dry goods and eyed her quietly for a moment. "No. My place is here."

"They were dipshits anyways," Daryl said.

Sitting down beside the Lieutenant, Grace handed the BB gun over with a quirked brow. "Is this, uh, this yours?"

"Nope, brought it home for our girl to learn on."

Daryl eyed the two of them quietly and Carol could see the gears working in his head even from where she sat across from him. She scooted closer to him. "The Lieutenant's pretty eager to get Annie using a rifle," she whispered, studying him for any changes in his features. His changes of emotions were subtle when it wasn't calm to explosive. "Are the threats outside Georgia that bad?"

He bowed his head back to going through packets of socks, sorting them into sizes. "If they keep to their states and we keep to ours, we won't have a problem."

"But…?" She urged, finishing for him before he could even think to add to his thought. "Food is getting scarce everywhere, isn't it?"

"Food," he agreed. "Ammo, basic human necessities, law and order. People are beginning to realize that they can literally do whatever they want as long as they have the balls and the guns to back it."

"I guess no one ever really thought about what would happen at the end of days," she returned.

"We came across this small community of Amish holing up close to the Georgia/Alabama border, said they came from Montezuma, they seemed to be doing okay, but lost a lot of people because they refused to kill the walkers. Only have about three of them left, a mama, her little girl and a man. Don't know what the roving gangs will do to them for their canned goods. They seemed well stocked on food and supplies and ripe for the picking."

"Why didn't you get them to come with you? Bring them back here?"

Daryl shook his head. "Fay tried, but they wouldn't budge from their land. They were still there on the return trip, when we went to check in on them, so they must be doing something right."

"So you didn't just come across bad people?" She asked, wanting to know some good did survive beyond Georgia.

"Sure, lots of good people just trying to scratch out a living. But the good people are busy trying to feed themselves and their groups, while the bad people are just shooting the good people and taking their hard earned food and supplies."

"It's a funny world, _cabri_," the Lieutenant mused from where he sat sorting out packages of pasta for the kitchen. Leaping up and over Sister Elizabeth who was kneeling to go through a box, the Lieutenant yanked a particular box out of Glenn's hand and thumped onto the grass beside Daryl. "Told you I'd find it! I knew I had to have packed it up!"

"What's in the box?" Glenn asked.

"A map," the Lieutenant said. "Daryl and I kept track of territories and known groups and what roads are safest to travel."

"So, what else is out there?" Michonne asked, easing onto the grass with a box, moving in closer to the men to look at the map they were spreading out.

"We came across this one group," the Lieutenant began with a fond smile, "they were holed up in a half-finished cement dam, tucked up inside it like barn owls. They were nice enough, fed us and let us pass without incident."

"Hell of a climb into that dam," Daryl added.

"Good food though," the Lieutenant returned. "Blackened catfish, Cajun style."

"What about you lot?" Daryl asked. "See any new faces around here?"

Carol shook her head. "It's been quiet."

"And Delgado? How's his men doing?" The Lieutenant asked suddenly, eyeing a box of random things calmly.

"Good, last I heard," Carol said. "Kowalski up and left about a month after you two went off."

"I know," Daryl said. "Met up with him in Tennessee, he was heading home from what I understand."

"Where's he from?" Grace asked.

Daryl shrugged.

"Wyoming," the Lieutenant answered still digging through the box.

"He'll never make it," Michonne pointed out.

"Might, might not," Daryl said. "He is a Marine."

"But he's deaf as a post," Merle stated, easing onto the lawns beside Carol as Rick backed the truck up to go abandon it somewhere.

"I'll say a prayer for him," Grace said thoughtfully. "Let God shepherd him on his path."

Carol couldn't help smiling as the Lieutenant looked up and lovingly stroked his knuckle down Grace's cheek almost proudly. Glancing to where Daryl sat, she found him frowning at a package of diapers he had pulled out of a box.

She scooted close to him, taking the package from his hands and leaning against him a little. Not close enough to draw attention from anyone, but comfortably close.

"No," Glenn said after a moment, "Kowalski's kind of tough. He'll be fine."

"I don't know how he could up and leave Delgado like that though," Sasha said. "Seems the poor man needs all the help he can get."

"You mean all the men he can get," Karen countered. "Went there last run with Tyreese and those women nearly tied him to a chair. I didn't think we'd ever get him home."

"I didn't hear him complaining," Merle objected.

___**..-~-..**_

* * *

_____**..-~-..**_

"Rick, can I have word?"

They were sitting around the kitchen later that night, Merle sharpening his blade, Carol, Grace and Mary Agnes sorting out the last of the dry goods and jars of preserves for the cellar, when Milton entered and approached Rick who was sitting with Judith at the table.

"What is it, Milton?" He asked.

"I just finished doing some figures, making a few calculations in preparation for winter and, uh…I need to talk to you."

"About what?" Rick asked.

Carol spied Carl creeping in from the back door, the young man keeping to the shadows sullenly. It seemed all of Rick's attempts to break through to the boy only pushed him further away. To everyone's shock Merle was the only one who seemed able to connect with Carl.

"Well, I…um…if we don't store up more food…we need to store up a lot more food." Milton said. "I mean, there's thirty-two of us and if we each eat a minimum of one pound of food a day, we'd still need about six thousand pounds of food stored up…that would give us about six months until we can either hunt or grow more…so…we have a bit of a problem."

Carol stopped sorting the food to turn and witness the conversation curiously.

"How much do we have now?"

"Taking into account food that weighs less now, but more once water is added, like pasta and oatmeal, about twelve hundred, seventy-eight pounds."

"Jesus," Merle murmured.

"But, I have taken in account as well, the garden vegetables, which…uh about three hundred and forty-three pounds, so that brings the total up to one thousand, six hundred and—"

"Yeah, we get it," Merle said. "Not enough. So?"

"Well, just…that." Milton said.

Rick scowled deeply.

"We can't possibly find enough to get us all through winter."

"So we start sacrificing virgins to the harvest God or what?" Merle demanded.

Carol looked to Rick who seemed to be processing the information with a frown, and then beside her to where Grace stood looking pale. She knew they didn't have much food, but the reality seemed hard to take.

"Well, a human being can survive on a quarter of a pound of food, which would give us more breathing room, but if we want the energy that comes with a well-rounded meal, uh, for…I don't know fighting people or the dead, um…we'd be…well, to put it in terms you'd understand…boned."

"You're telling us that people will starve come winter?" Grace demanded.

"Yes, ma'am."

Carol touched a hand to her swollen stomach and grimaced.

"No, that won't happen," Rick stated. "We'll up our efforts to find food. Daryl and the Lieutenant went out beyond Georgia and if we need to we will too. There has to be food somewhere out there. We can check every farmhouse and back road grocer's if we have to."

Looking to her left, Carol pondered where food could be found after everything had been picked clean. She studied a can of factory soup that sat on the counter beside her and tilted her head at the small print on the label.

She picked it up. "Rick," she said, reading the label. "McCaysville."

"What?"

She held the can up. "The distributor is in Northern Georgia. You think it's been picked over yet?"

"We'll try anything," he said. "Merle, call a meeting, get everyone in the yard to discuss this."

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___**itsi3 - I kind of love it too.**_

___**Merle's Right Hand - Pshaw, I bet you say that to all the fanfiction writers.**_

___**DarylDixon'sLover - That's been done so many times. I would never. ^_^**_

___**Claire Randall Fraser - Damn, I missed an opportunity there. ^_^**_

___**auntheddy - Third option. A DIXON!**_

___**HGRHfan35 - I do love cows. I was outside today snuggling my big moo-baby. She's so fickle...only loves me when the grain is flowing.**_

___**vickih - Thank you! I'm just happy to be nominated with all those other really, really, REALLY good authors. I don't stand a chance, but it's still just exciting to be with them!**_

___**Surplus Imagination - I kind of liked the image of Daryl eating oatmeal with his hands too...I need to write it again sometime.**_

___**Brazen Hussy - Oh God, Merle baby...is the world ready for that yet?**_

___**Yazzy x - I have to admit, I enjoy writing the Daryl/Lieutenant bromance.**_

___**Queenola-Witty - I'm glad you caught up! Thanks for joining the party! And thank you for the lovely reviews! Very kind of you!**_


	6. Rat

**Full disclosure: While I like to be as well researched and accurate as I can be, I have to admit that there's actually no soup distributor in McCaysville, but it moves the plot along. Am I strange for having that stick in my side? I dunno. I like to be fairly accurate. Whatever, this is just empty space so the chapter pull down doesn't shift my chapter title over.**

**Also! Get an eyeful of that swank-assed cover one of my most beloved lovely loves, Merle's Right Hand, arted up for me! I think she's outdone herself! It's super beautiful and sheer perfection!**

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**Chapter Six: Rat  
**

****Daryl****

"You can't have four deuces, that's bullshit!" Cash argued. "Let me see your hand. No, throw it down."

Sitting in the open doorway of the garden shed, Daryl quietly stripped bark from a piece of wood to make more bolts for his crossbow, looking up now and then to watch the poker game going on in the cot to his right, his foot braced on the opposite side of the doorframe from where his back was leaning.

Glenn, who held the winning hand, beamed widely. "Balls to you, dumb ass, fork it over."

"See, Cash, this is why we all folded," Andrea taunted.

The garden shed was packed to the gills it seemed, with the Lieutenant eased against the wall just inside the door, reading a biography on some old time film star, looking deeply engrossed in it and St. James flopped on Merle's pile of rags nest at the far end of the shed, reading what looked like a medical periodical. Andrea, Glenn, Cash and Tyreese were playing poker, pissing away the rest of the day since it was too late to go out foraging, but still too early for the evening chores. Just outside the door, Michonne sat trying to patch up her boot, her bare foot burrowed into the lush green grass of the convent yard, her ass propped on a block of wood by the door close to Daryl.

"Goddamned little pimple on my ass is what he is," Cash grumbled as Glenn laughed at him, collecting his winnings.

"Cash," Michonne called out as Layla approached. "Better mind your tongue, your little woman is heading this way."

"She ain't my goddamned little woman," Cash griped. "That is the last time I save anyone," he added, muttering under his breath, collecting the new card hand he was dealt by Tyreese.

"Come on, man, she likes you," Tyreese said.

"Bully for her."

Glancing up as the woman towered over him, Daryl squinted curiously at her as she stood there looking anxious. He stared at her for the longest time, Daryl chewing on a piece of willow bark idly as she avoided his eyes and toyed with the edge of her headscarf. It was beginning to get awkward, when the Lieutenant poked his head around the corner of the doorframe and spoke to her in her own tongue.

"Merle says…meeting," she said in her broken English, pointing to the area in front of the church.

Spitting out the bark, Daryl climbed to his feet and set down his work, picking up his crossbow and shouldering it.

The entire group sauntered across the lawns for the front of the church where others were gathering together, Milton and Rick waiting for them on the steps.

Immediately, Daryl knew something wasn't right, Rick looked dark and agitated and Milton was busy with one of his ever present notebooks, scribbling in it furiously.

Beside him the Lieutenant idly lifted his left hand and picked at the fresh bandages to the wound on the back if it. Merle wandered by and slapped both hands hard with a grin.

"Don't pick at that," Merle said, wedging himself between Daryl and the Lieutenant.

"Merle, you don't have to show me this kind of affection. I know how much you missed us." The Lieutenant shot back with a grin.

"So what's with the meeting?" Daryl demanded of his brother.

"We're all fucked," Merle returned as Rick raised his hands to gather everyone's attention.

Rick cleared his throat. "You've all been doing good work this summer," he began.

Daryl instantly knew it was bad news. Rick was buttering them up for something bad.

"But Milton's been doing some calculations and despite all our efforts to gather food, if we don't really step up our gathering, come winter we may not have enough."

A murmur rippled through the group gathered at the base of the steps and Daryl felt an arm snake through his as Carol joined him at his side.

"You mean some of us will starve?" Sasha demanded.

"Yeah."

Another murmur tore across the group.

Rick held up his hands to calm them. "We're not going to give up just yet. This is a possibility, but we have options. It's still the heart of summer, we will set out in groups to find whatever we can. Daryl and the Lieutenant found an ample supply of preserves in country cellars, we can gather those, there's a canned goods distributor in McCaysville in Northern Georgia, we can try places like that. We'll hunt and we'll gather what we can from the wild, but we won't just roll over and die."

"How much more do we need?" Michonne asked.

Milton stepped in. "Well, in total, about six thousand pounds of food."

"How much do we have now?" Sister Mary Claire asked.

"About a fifth of that."

"Including the vegetables in the garden?"

"Yes."

"As of tomorrow we'll be breaking you up into groups and giving you specific tasks," Rick said. "Some of you may be going far from home, so I want you all ready for overnight and combat situations. We weren't expecting our group to keep growing as it has," he went on. "And while we're happy to have all the people we can in our group, we'll need to work together to survive the winter."

"Why didn't you tell us about this earlier?" Karen asked.

"I only now finished my calculations," Milton said. "I had to count all the food stuffs between the school and making basic medications with the chemical provided."

"So, what's the bottom line then? If we can't make the quota?" Sister Elizabeth asked.

"Ever hear of the Donner Party?" Cash asked.

Reaching forward Merle gave the blond man a shove. "Shut up, rags."

Daryl exchanged a knowing look with Carol, who stood looking grim.

"We'll make the quota," Rick insisted. "We'll do whatever we have to do to survive. But we'll all have to help out. That means a lot of us will be going out beyond our woods to scrounge for the first time. Those of you who can't, you'll be here watching the convent walls and preparing the food to store it for the winter. For now, no one eats the canned goods or the preserved food, everything eaten must be fresh, stuff that will spoil if left too long. Daryl?"

Looking up he nodded to Rick.

"I want you to head up the group tracking down edible wild plants since you're our expert."

Daryl nodded.

"Glenn, I want you in charge of fishing," Rick went on. "Merle, you're going to be taking people out hunting. Lieutenant, you'll be heading to this distributing centre in McCaysville, take no more than four or five people including yourself. Michonne, you and I will be taking a few people with us to check out every farmhouse we come across in Georgia for preserves and canned goods, even empty jars and lids for canning things. Carol, since you can't really go anywhere in your condition, you'll be here overseeing the preservation and counting of the food, you let us know each night what the total is. That's it," Rick said. "Enjoy the rest of your day. We'll be working our asses off for the next few months."

"What about me, killer?" Cash called out.

"If this becomes a Donner Party scenario, Cash," Rick began. "You'll be our first meal, so keep yourself healthy until then."

"I've never eaten rat before," Merle said.

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Resting his head against the large grey dog's side, Daryl flipped through a National Geographic, lounging on his cot inside his shed home, appreciating the electric lights in the late evening.

Carol was quietly going through some clothing she had gotten from the boxes upon boxes of clothes Daryl and the Lieutenant had brought back with them, looking for something that would fit her growing stomach.

In the open doorway, Fay sat cleaning up the BB gun he found, with Annie draped across his legs playing with Boo.

Neither Daryl nor Carol asked why he wasn't with Grace in the dorms, but both were curious, glancing over at him from time to time, before exchanging quiet looks with each other.

"_Ange_?" The Lieutenant asked suddenly, still fiddling with the gun.

"Yes?" Carol returned.

"What kind of symptoms do pregnant women get?"

Carol, holding a pretty, flowy pink blouse to her body, idly responded with, "it depends. Every woman is different, I suppose. Why?" She looked over at Daryl and found him watching the conversation over the top of his magazine.

"Morbid curiosity," the Lieutenant returned evenly, holding the tip cap of the BB gun to his mouth and blowing through it, before screwing it back on. "I like that pink one on you."

Smiling, Carol folded the blouse and set it aside.

"Why the hell are you hanging around here, anyways?" Daryl finally demanded, adding quickly, "morbid curiosity."

"I'm sorry," the Lieutenant said, "am I getting in the way of something here?"

"No," Carol said. "Daryl's just being a territorial grump."

Scowling, Daryl returned to his magazine, when he glanced up again as he flipped a page, he found Carol looking expectantly at him, tilting her head towards the Lieutenant slightly.

He shook his head.

Sighing, she dropped the last of the garments into the bag and headed for the door with it, smiling at the Lieutenant as she stepped over him, playing with Annie's hair on her way past.

Annie scrambled off the Lieutenant, following Carol out of the shed, Boo at her heels.

After a while, Daryl dropped the magazine and watched the Cajun as he quietly cleaned the BB gun. Scratching Clyde idly, he shifted on his cot, before sitting up and meandering his way across the shed, copping a squat just beside the Marine.

"You, ah…what's up, man?"

"Nothing, _cabri_."

"Yeah? Then why aren't you spending some time with your woman?"

"Don't always need to be attached to her ass."

"Where's your head at?"

Fay sighed wearily. "Just feeling things out. Thinking things over."

"You talking globally or locally?"

"Universally."

Quietly waiting for him to elaborate, Daryl dropped from his heels to his ass and settled beside Fay.

"Five thousand pounds of food, that's a lot," the Lieutenant began. "Thirty-two mouths to feed, thirty-three come winter and baby Dixon is born."

"So? We get five thousand pounds," Daryl stated firmly.

"And if we don't?" The Lieutenant said. "Starvation," he began counting off on his long fingers, "loss of life, loss of faith, loss of hope, loss of human morality." Using all four fingers and thumb, the Cajun closed his hand into a fist and opened it again. "Explosive situation in the dead of winter, bad place to be snowbound."

"You giving up already?" Daryl snapped.

"No, but we should have known, _cabri_. Nothing ever ends the way we think it will."

"If this is about what your daddy said—"

"What he said, Daryl, struck a chord deep and true. The world was a dirty place before all of this and it's only going to get dirtier."

"Your old man was full of shit," Daryl stated, getting to his feet, not because he didn't like what the Lieutenant was saying, but because deep down he was thinking it. He remembered hope and how it felt when hope was crushed. "And if you don't want to be like him, then don't be full of shit too."

"Daryl," Fay said.

He stewed for a moment, kicking at the simple wooden planks of the shed floor.

"Yeah," Daryl said finally.

"I don't want our world to turn ugly."

Watching a beetle crawl across the floor, Daryl scowled at it, living life, content and happy knowing it had no worries. He almost wanted to crush it just for taunting him. Instead, he sighed and nodded, setting his hands on his hips. "Yeah."

"I've never wanted to both protect innocence and arm innocence more in my entire life," the Lieutenant confessed.

Daryl nodded.

"So? What do we do, _cabri_?"

Smiling, he rubbed his scruff. "I guess, we protect and provide. Take the bumps and the breaks for them."

Fay nodded. "I'm used to it."

"Yeah," Daryl agreed.

Both men shared a look, before the Lieutenant stood up.

"_Mais_, I have a soft cot and a date with a pretty nun."

Stopping the Cajun at the door with a word, Daryl said, "she'll be just fine, you know?"

"It's not her I'm worried for," Fay returned with a small twinkle in his eye.

Daryl frowned.

"Lord help this poor boy," Fay murmured.

"Look, your daddy—"

"Nope, wrong again, _cabri_."

Daryl waited, knowing Fay liked to answer un-inquired questions.

"Don't worry about it, Daryl. _C'est un mystère, jusqu'à ce que le mystère est résolu_."

Scuffing the floor some more, the two stood about quietly, before Daryl asked. "What if Carol has a girl?"

With both eyebrows rising to his hairline, Fay smirked. "What if she has a boy?"

"Asshole."

The Lieutenant chuckled, before saying sombrely. "In my experience, _cabri_, the worst father in the world is the father who's never there, not because he's _defan_ or working far away for bread and honey for his family, but because he chooses to not be there. You're here, Daryl, because you choose to be here. And you will be here for that baby, because you're a good man."

Daryl scoffed.

"Not once, Daryl, since that very first time we set off together down that cattle trail, your head full of steam, looking for your people, me just happy to have company that didn't look like a penguin, not once did I ever doubt the fact that you had my back. I mean, hell, you had enough patience to put up with me and I'm hard to handle on the best of days, I'm sure you can handle a kid. I know you're scared, _cabri_, and I know you're thinking of calling me an asshole because I know you're scared, but…we're all scared, it's the human condition. And, besides, you have me and Carol and everyone here. We're all here for you, on _your_ side. That's family, that's not even just a community anymore, we're family." Sighing lightly, the Lieutenant ran a hand through his freshly cropped hair and lightly scratched at his scalp. "Hell, we have to feed this family. We _will_ feed this family."

"Yep," Daryl agreed, dipping his head.

"Failure's not an option, Daddy Dixon." Grinning, Fay added, "what was it that Colonel in Tennessee said to her boys?"

Daryl snorted in amusement.

"Oh yeah, 'we're not mortals anymore, we're Gods'."

Both men chuckled.

"Ah, that's the Army for you, bigger balls than brains," Fay muttered on his way out.

Standing in the doorway of his shed, Daryl folded his arms and looked out at the early evening activities of the convent. From his place, he could see a few gathered around the fire, Cash sharpening a knife near Layla and her son, who were at sunset prayer, Michonne and Andrea who were walking the wall together.

Nearby, his brother sat in the shade of the infirmary, blade arm propped up on his bent knee.

Daryl moved across the yard to join him, Clyde close at his heel.

"You know," Merle began without looking up at him. "It's hot today, muggy. Hope to God a tornado don't hit."

"Naw, couple days of this maybe, but it'll probably just storm."

"If the others are going to be out, they might get caught up."

"Since when did you give a fuck?" Daryl asked.

Merle was quiet for a moment, before he said, "it's a good thing you came back. I was eyeing up your woman. She's a hell of a spitfire."

"You couldn't handle her," Daryl shot back after a moment.

Nodding, his older brother stretched his legs out before him and eased back on his good hand.

"She's got a hell of a rack on her, though."

"Watch where you're stepping, Merle," he warned, only half serious.

Sniffing, Merle fell silent again.

It was only then that Daryl realized how much easier it was for him to talk to Fay then Merle, not that he didn't still look up to Merle like he did when he was young. In a strange way, Merle was still the man he aspired to be. At least in certain ways, Daryl wanted to be like Merle. His big brother almost always seemed like he knew what the future held, what his plans were. Merle, sober Merle, seemed focused and certain.

In that way, Daryl aspired to be him. Especially at times like they were having, when the future they had thought would be brighter, seemed muddy, when he was faced with jumping into deep waters.

The two Dixon's sat there quietly, watching people come and go from the infirmary, enjoying the growing dusk.

They didn't need to say anything, Dixon's didn't say things, but they were together. Brothers. That was everything.

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**Surplus Imagination - Enjoy the happy characters while you can. Just saying.**

**auntheddy - I suddenly had a vision of a Where's Waldo book only with Kowalski. Like a sullen, young Marine sitting in a tree among a sea of hijinks.  
**

**itsi3 - It should make you happy to know that as far as I know, unless I'm given another assignment, I'm back for good for a good long while.**

**Claire Randall Fraser - I just imagine that for a man, covered in tampons is perhaps the worst way to die. Ever.**

**DarylDixon'sLover - Indeed.**

**vickih - I read once about speculation on what would happen to a society of survivors if the world ever came to a sort of end. There wouldn't be anything new made, because in most factories, even if a worker survived, they don't know how to operate every machine, nor would the raw materials be readily available. It was actually kind of interesting. I should try to find it again...sorry, rambling reply.**

**Brazen Hussy - No, but if it ever came to that, I'm sure Merle would be the one to punch out a woman while dressed in a bear suit.**

**Lilone1776 - I'm seriously considering a Carl chapter coming up in the near future, because I do have plans for him and Merle both.**

**HGRHfan35 - I hate when you read a hilarious book or fanfiction and get 'the look' from people when you laugh out loud. It might be because I have social anxiety so I always feel like I'm on display, but especially when I snort laugh at 'nothing'.**

**Merle's Right Hand - I believe we've discussed this previously, but if I ever did somehow wind up with a spawn, you could be the cursing aunt all you want. I don't care. They're only words.**


	7. Beetle

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**Chapter Six: Beetle  
**

****Old Missy****

Kneeling in her rose garden, on both hands and knees, Grace heaved into the dirt at the base of her favourite coral rose bush, fingers digging deep into the soil she had only just worked up earlier that week.

Glancing up as she daintily wiped her chin, she eased back onto her ass on the path and sighed as Carol headed towards her, rounding the corner of the dorms.

"This heat is almost smothering," Grace said conversationally as Carol knelt beside her, finally deciding to sit on her ass as well. "I don't do well with it."

"I hope it doesn't storm badly," Carol said, watching the dying sun in the west through the trees.

"We haven't had a twister hit this part of Georgia in four years, but it wasn't bad, which means we're due for one, I suppose." She glanced beside her and found Carol studying her carefully, brows lowered. "I hope Lafayette wasn't bothering you and Daryl too much?"

Carol continued to study her critically, before smiling and shaking her head. "No, you know he's never a bother to me, I like him just fine."

Grace laughed gently. "Seems everyone likes that man."

"He's charismatic," Carol defended.

"He's a snake, don't underestimate him." Grace said, half-jokingly. Adjusting her legs, she leaned back on her hands and sighed. "God knows I love him, but someone has to be a little hard on him or he'd get away with too much."

"Do you ever regret it? Being with him?"

Grace laughed. "No, I should, but not once. That man needs me."

They fell quiet. Overhead the stars were beginning to show themselves one by one in the beautiful purple and orange sky.

"Grace? We're friends, aren't we?"

"I should hope so, we've seen each other in our underpants."

Carol and Grace both laughed, remembering how they looked each other over for ticks just last month and how Grace swore if the Lieutenant ever found out he'd never let them live it down. When she sobered, she said sincerely, "please don't think I'm being nosy or trying to intrude, then. But I think you might be pregnant."

Folding her hands primly in her lap, Grace took in the trees and the way they stood black against the growing twilight.

"I am," she said.

Neither woman said anything for the longest time until a pair of feet thumping hard on the grass headed their way broke the silence and Annie launched herself into Grace's lap, Boo hard on her heels.

"Where on earth did you come from, honey?" Grace asked.

"Carol let me follow Adele into the infirmary and then I snuggled the kittens by the church steps, Adele says they're getting old enough to snuggle and then I watched a beetle and Boo ate it."

"My Lord, you've been busy," Grace exclaimed, wrapping her arms around the girl.

"Well, I didn't want Boo to eat it, but she did and it was fast. Hi, Auntie Carol!" The little girl tilted her face towards Carol, the faint light of the stars painting her pretty café au lait skin with silver. She was going to be a stunning beauty when she got older, Grace knew it, she could see it in the girl's eyes, which could turn from hazel to brown to green to yellow in an instant. She had the kind of eyes that made someone want to just pour themselves into her soul. Kissing the girl's cheek and cuddling her close, she laid her cheek on the top of Annie's head and sighed. Then she regretfully drew away from the embrace, Annie standing up, knowing full well what was coming.

"Bedtime," Grace suggested.

"Can Boo come?" She asked.

"Doesn't that pooch always? Now go wash up, brush your teeth and I'll be in to kiss you goodnight."

Throwing her arms around Grace one last time, Annie squeezed tight and whispered. "Can I stay up?"

"Oh no, you need your sleep, the Lieutenant wants you to get up early tomorrow morning for rifle training."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes. Go on."

"Will daddy will tuck me in?" She chirped pulling away.

"Most definitely, but you have to get your little buns moving," the Lieutenant said from behind them. "If you're in bed one second late I'll know."

"What would you do anyways?" Annie demanded.

The Lieutenant knelt down and sniffed. "Well, I'll take you and throw you into the river."

Annie laughed. "You wouldn't!"

"Oh, I would, don't tempt me, girl." He returned with a wink.

Giving Carol a quick kiss on the cheek and then her daddy one, Annie scooted off with Boo close behind, scurrying into the kitchen through the backdoor.

Standing up, Carol brushed grass off her ass with a careless hand and smiled at the two of them. "I should get some sleep too. Big day tomorrow." She stooped to give the Lieutenant a kiss on the forehead. "Goodnight, Lieutenant."

He beamed up at her. "Goodnight, _ange_," touching her belly with a large hand he leaned in and whispered, "_fais dodo_, baby Dixon."

Carol laughed softly and touched a hand to the Lieutenant's hair. "Goodnight, Grace."

"Goodnight," she replied distractedly, knowing full well why Carol was leaving them alone.

"_Que bébé va sortir les combats_," the Lieutenant murmured, settling in closer to Grace, still watching Carol as she moved off.

"Possibly, it will be a Dixon in blood," she answered, before she could stop herself. It wasn't like she understood everything, but she picked up two keys words thanks to the French lesson books Michonne had brought her during one of their scavenging trips.

It was enough though, the astute Cajun – crafty as she'd call him – angled his face to look directly at her.

Thankfully he didn't say anything, just got that funny twinkle in his eye.

"Don't flatter yourself," she said before he could make any assumptions. "I was bored."

Moving in a little closer to her, he bumped his hip against hers and grinned, hand straying across her stomach, heading for her opposite hip to pull her in tight. "I wasn't going to say anything, _beb_." He gave her a kiss. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, just fine."

He tightened his arms around her and kissed her again. "I don't think you are."

"Oh?"

"I think you're seriously sick, Gracie."

"Hm," she touched a hand to her navel, trailing down a little lower, bowing her head to it. "Well, I have been meaning to go see St. James about this growth."

"Growth," all traces of smile on his face disappeared and pulled away gently to look at her, eyes horrified and wide.

"Um-hm, in my womb," she breathlessly, more scared than she had ever been. "Another six more months and it may prove to be a bit of a problem."

"Oh, Jesus," he sighed heavily, raking a hand through his hair. "Girl, you can't break news like that, in that way to a man. Oh God, I aged four years. Sweet Jesus," he touched a hand to his chest. "You can't do that to me, I'm old. I could have a damned stroke."

She couldn't help but laugh. "Serves you right, you damned Cajun devil!"

"Oh holy hell, my head hurts," he complained, dropping back onto the grass, pulling her on top of him.

They both laughed themselves stupid, until she realized his shaking wasn't laughter anymore and pushed herself off his chest to look down at him sobbing wildly beneath her.

She had never seen him cry, ever. And it shocked her.

"Oh, honey," she began.

"No," he said quickly, sitting and hiding his tears with his hands to his forehead. "Oh God," he murmured behind them, "I thought it was so much worse."

"Honey," she repeated, hand to her throat.

"Don't ever leave me," he said gently.

She realized it was more than just his fear of her well-being that was bringing on this breakdown, so she remained silent, hand moving to touch his knee.

He bent low, sobbing wildly behind his hands and rocking.

Figuring half of his tears were for his father, she slipped against him and held him tightly, trying to protect him, physically shielding him from everything, tears slipping past her own defences for him.

After an hour, he inhaled deeply, exhaled loudly and cleared his throat.

Grace carefully released him, eyes on his every move.

He wouldn't meet her eyes for a moment, ashamed to have broken down on her like that. Any man would do it, but after a moment he said sheepishly, "I'm sorry. I'm a mess."

She smiled encouragingly at him and moved in between his legs, kneeling there and kissing his face with a multitude of quick butterfly kisses. "I'm here, lover."

He nodded. "I know. Just stay here for me, yeah?"

"I'm not going anywhere anytime soon," she assured him, stroking his hair and his cheeks.

He bowed his head, resting it in the space between her shoulder and jaw and she stroked his hair gently, playing with it, humming to him an old song her father used to sing to her, her real father, not the Catholic man who married her mother.

She spied Annie poking her head out of the backdoor worriedly and motioned the girl over.

Carefully she approached.

"I waited," Annie explained.

Pulling apart, Grace motioned Annie in between them and they sandwiched the girl with their bodies, embracing tightly.

Beaming happily, Annie wriggled and giggled.

Grace, who had never aspired for a family, found that she had one. The little dog too.

And while their fence wasn't white picket and their home was sprinkled with a mass of icons and crosses, it was a good home. It would have been a good home if they lived in a scrapheap.

She allowed them to stay like that long past Annie's bedtime, seeing how much it calmed Lafayette to be with them, the little smile on his relaxed features pleasing her.

The only thing that ruined the moment was the impending food shortage come winter and while Grace tried to put it to the back of her mind, she couldn't. It lingered there just behind her eyes, in the forefront of her mind.

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She got up later that night for gate duty. Leaving Fate sleeping peacefully in their cot, his swamp giant form curled up around her, stretched and retracted like an earthworm, then rolled over as she moved from their nest.

Pausing long enough to rest a hand against his bare chest, leaning down to kiss him gently, she took her boots in her hand and headed out the door barefoot, padding down the dark hall, heading for the front door.

As she passed through into the humid Georgian night air, she heard Rick's low voice speaking with someone to her right and peered through the darkness in the general direction.

"You're not going anywhere."

"I can help, dad!" Carl protested. "Give me my guns back!"

Feeling it was none of her business, Grace carried on, only to stop when Carl shouted louder.

"You gave me the damned things! You can't stop me from going, I'll go without them then!"

Pulling Fate's jacket around her tighter to ward off the mosquitoes of the night, Grace paused, turning back with a frown, before returning to her journey.

"Carl! Carl!" Rick shouted. "You can't go!"

"Why not?!" Carl demanded. "Who's going to stop me?! You? Forget it, you don't care."

"I don't care?" Rick asked. "I've been…" he fell silent, speaking in a soft, harsh whisper that was lost on the wind to Grace's ears as she reached Herschel at the gate.

"Long night?" She greeted him.

He smiled kindly and stood up from the chair that had been place there for those on gate duty. "Oh, I don't mind. The fresh air is nice."

"Carl! Stop!" Rick shouted, closer now in the dark, emerging from the shadows after his boy.

In the blue illumination of the yard light atop the church that was fed by the power cells thanks to Milton's solar panels, Grace could see Rick marching after his son.

Carl kept marching towards them at the gate determinedly.

Herschel and Grace exchanged glances as the young man stopped to open the gate, a full pack on his back. He stopped and removed his hat, throwing it hard at his father.

"There's nothing for me here," the boy said sadly. "If I find food, I'll be back, but I won't stay."

Touching a hand to her chest, Grace had never wanted so badly to interfere in a family fight before, but she forced her mouth to remain closed.

The gate rocked open on rusty hinges, gently banging against the stone wall in the wind as Rick picked up the hat his boy tossed at him.

As Herschel moved to close the gate, Merle emerged from the dark shadows somewhere nearby and moved to stand with them quietly.

"Wait," Rick said, unbuckling the gun belt that held his heavy duty revolver, he jogged out the gate before it was closed and after his son.

Grace couldn't see very well past the gate, the holy light of the convent didn't touch that far, but when Rick came back without his gun belt and his head hanging low, she assumed he finally made the decision to let his son go.

"You neutered him," Merle muttered to Rick, "when you took away his guns, you neutered him. You let him grow up, and then took it back, he has to go."

"He's not coming back," Rick said.

"He'll be back." Merle returned. "But he has to do this."

Grace turned to Herschel, hoping he'd know what to do.

"He's only fourteen," she whispered.

"He has to go," Herschel said. "He's not a boy anymore."

"Why now?" She returned softly, not wanting Rick to hear her. "Why tonight?"

"Because it's been a long time coming," Rick murmured, throwing the hat on the ground and walking off, stopping only long enough to growl low to Merle. "You were supposed to help him."

"I did."

"You son-of-a-bitch," Rick growled, moving across the yard, disappearing into the shadows.

Looking down the dark cattle trail beyond the gate, Grace frowned.

"No," she said suddenly. People disappeared down that trail and came back crushed by the world at the end of it. Moving to the gate, she struggled to open it.

"Grace," Herschel said, settling a hand on her shoulder. "Let him go."

She peered through the wrought iron bars of the gate for what felt like hours, before stepping back and flopping hard onto the chair.

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Carl was still on her mind the next morning, as she gathered what she felt she'd need into one of the spare packs the Lieutenant had brought back from Marine HQ.

"What are you doing there, girl?" Fate muttered sleepily from the cot.

"Getting packed up to go to McCaysville," she explained.

Sitting up, the man rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. "What? No."

"Yes," she insisted.

"No."

Pushing her hair out of her eyes, it had been growing too long, she huffed in exhaustion from her packing. "If you don't let me go with you, I'll probably just offer to help someone else who needs people. Maybe Rick or Michonne?"

"What about Annie? And…your…our...little shrimp?" He motioned to her belly.

"Three months isn't going to weigh me down and Carol will watch Annie, I'm sure."

Dropping his legs over the edge of the cot, he sat up and sighed heavily. "You want to come?"

"Yes, I want to get used to being outside these walls."

He looked her up and down. "Okay, but you stay close to me and listen, alright?"

"I'm not a child, I won't wander off," she argued.

"No, but you're my love, if I lose you I'd curl up and waste away," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

She tsked at him and turned back to her packing.

"Alright, you can come with me, but I want something in return."

She zipped up her pack and turned around. "What's that, lover?"

He patted his knee invitingly.

"Oh, good Lord, not that."

It was his turn to tsk. "I'm not an animal, girl. My God! Come sit here."

"Well, I'm not a dog, don't call me over," she argued.

With a wicked look, he peeked at her from beneath a slightly abashed brow, before standing up. "My Lord, you are difficult, you are aware?"

Before she could retort, she was swept up in his arms and dipped playfully backwards. He spun her gracefully like they were dancing, and eventually wound up back on the cot, with her in his lap.

She laughed. "You swamp giant, let me go! I wish I were a burly man big enough to manhandle you, see how you liked it."

Pressing a kiss against her clavicle, Fate beamed broadly. "If you were a man my lifestyle would be considerably different."

"Would you still love me if I were a man?" She inquired.

"Would you still be you inside?"

"Yes."

"Then, _beb_, I'd still love you if you were a bull moose."

"Even if I had a big bushy beard and chest hair?" She went on playfully.

"If I can't have a beard, why can man-you have a beard?"

"Because if I were big and burly I'd do whatever I wanted."

"This conversation got very strange," he murmured against her shoulder, hand slipping to the buttons on her blouse.

She slapped it away. "Uh-uh, you have to wake little missy for her rifle training."

He immediately dropped his hand, resting it over her stomach and laying his cheek against her shoulder. Her hand moved to his bare chest and he slapped it away lightly.

Again she tsked at him.

"Tit for tat, _beb_," he murmured.

"You're rotten."

"Nope, equal opportunity," he said, raising his head and smirking devilishly at her.

She leaned her head down and kissed him chastely.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I know." Bumping her off him playfully onto the cot, he stood up and beamed broadly down at her. "And you're not the only one, so you'd better be a lot nicer to me."

Lifting her dainty foot, she pressed it against his stomach and pushed hard.

He picked it up off his body and bit the ankle.

"Ow! Monster!" She griped, kicking at him.

He bounced back with an evil cackle and raced for the door, Grace hard on his heels.

Throwing it open, both stopped short as Mrs. Douglas wandered by with Mary Claire. Grace hid behind him in embarrassment at having been caught running like kids, the Lieutenant sobering quickly.

"Morning, Lieutenant," the old woman said, eyeing his half naked form with a cat-like smile.

He casually leaned in the doorway and smiled winningly at her. "Morning, darling, Mary Claire," he said. "Where are you ladies off too so early this morning?"

"Causing all kinds of trouble," Mrs. Douglas returned, peeking around him at Grace. "Morning, Grace."

She flushed a little pink. "Good morning, Mrs. Douglas, Sister Mary Claire," she greeted, before pressing her face into Fate's back to hide her embarrassment.

"You look like you just rolled out of bed, Lieutenant," Mrs. Douglas pointed out, still eyeing his chest.

He touched a hand to his flat stomach thoughtfully. "Yeah, sorry if it ruins your breakfast, I've been meaning to do a little yoga, you know? Maybe trim up a bit." He raised his arms and flexed, pretending to stretch. "I dunno, maybe I'll just embrace my out of shape self and start loving me for me, you know?"

Behind his back Grace frowned at his peacocking and leaned down, biting him on the side where they couldn't see.

"Aiee!" He exclaimed, thrusting away from her. "Keep walking, ladies," he said, closing the door between them and the hall.

Grace cackled wildly at him.

"_Oo-ye-yi_," he murmured, rubbing his side. "_Possede_."

"_Couyon_," she returned, beaming broadly at him, proud of the bad Cajun words she was picking up from Annie.

He smiled at her. "Annie?"

"Who else?"

Grace was swept into his arms again and he stared down at her intensely.

"My _Mamere_ warned me about foul mouthed women," he drawled.

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**vickih - For more information on my random responses please call 1-800-SPY-LIES. Or mail us at PO Box 888...another 8...I think, Pueblo, Colorado. (was that random enough? Think it'll make someone else want the rest of the story now? They can be jealous of us for once) ^_^**

**spygrrl99 - I know it's not a complete Carl chapter, but trust me when I say he's going to get plenty of his own chapters soon, he's kind of a plot device for me right now.**

**DarylDixon'sLover - Indeed.**

**Yazzy x - Pep talk, Lieutenant style.**

**Merle's Right Hand - No, we've discuss balls previously. You know where my balls go.**

**itsi3 - I'm happy you're happy!**

**Brazen Hussy - Only a wee bit of Merle in this chapter...sorry! I feel horrible when I can't fit him in now...because he's Merle, he needs so much more!**

**Claire Randall Fraser - You know Merle wouldn't go for that 'sissy' stuff. He's all man. ^_^**

**Surplus Imagination - Thanks for bringing that up. I know it seems like I've forgotten Merle and Daryl are brothers, but the fact is that Merle will always be Daryl's brother, he's just not so good at that brotherly stuff. He's more quietly loyal and protective of his baby bro.**


	8. Whiskey

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**Chapter Eight: Whiskey  
**

****Daryl****

"Snug, good and tight, good," Fay cooed, holding the girl's position with the BB gun.

Annie frowned, looking down the muzzle at instructed.

From where he sat nearby with Merle, Daryl watched the young girl struggle with the gun. She was too small to hold it properly, but she tried, hope of pleasing the Lieutenant in her eyes.

The gun wasn't loaded, but it was still pointed safely at the wall in the hopes of teaching Annie how to properly handle a gun whether it was a relatively harmless weapon like a BB gun or a high powered rifle.

"Okay, now pull the trigger without moving anything but your finger, still, be still girl."

Annie scowled and pulled the trigger. The BB gun clicked.

"This kind of rifle, honeychild, is a lever-action, you have a cocking lever, that makes it a lever-action, you understand?"

"No," Annie answered honestly.

"You will, baby girl. Okay, try again, just squeeze with your finger, no movement from anything. Breathe in, hold your breath and squeeze."

Annie pulled the trigger again.

"Okay, keep the forestock resting on your palm, if you touch the metal barrel it'll burn your hand wickedly when the rifle is shot. Do you remember which part is the forestock, honeychild?"

Annie nodded and pointed to the wooden part of the rifle that cradled under the barrel.

"Good girl, that's my smart girl," he praised. "Okay, I think we won't dive in too deep today. I want you to keep this on you at all times? If I catch you without it, you'll be in trouble, yeah? You sleep with it propped beside your bed, you eat with it, never keep it any further than your arm's length away, yeah?"

Annie held the BB gun with a slight furrow. "What kind of trouble will I be in?"

"Oh, well the stars will fall down from the skies and chase you around this convent warbling like turkeys. Here, strap it on your back, like this." He helped drape the BB gun on the girl's back. "I want you to always think of this BB gun as being loaded, okay? Loaded means it has the BB's in it and can hurt people. If you point it at someone, they better be a bad guy, not someone you're mad at here, but someone dangerous, yeah? Don't ever let me catch you pointing it at someone in play, yeah?"

With wide eyes and a sombre face, Annie nodded. "Okay."

"I've never been more serious, girl. You understand me?"

Annie's eyes filled with tears. "Are you mad at me?"

"No, baby girl, but I need you to know how dangerous a rifle can be. It's not a toy, you can hurt or even kill something if you treat it like it's a toy, yeah?"

Despite the smirk on his face, Daryl could see the young girl's eyes widen in mild fear at Fay's words.

"Okay."

"Alright, now give me a hug," Fay ended with a grin.

Annie, holding the BB gun secure on her back awkwardly with one hand, gave him a hug with the other.

"You'll get it used to it, baby girl," he said. "Now head inside, I think your mama's making breakfast."

Even though were only silent onlookers, both Daryl and Merle received hugs from Annie, before she dashed inside, Boo trailing behind.

Exhaling deeply, Fay scratched at his chin with his thumb. "Well? How'd I do?"

Both Dixon's shrugged.

Grinning, the Lieutenant nodded. "Well, she'll earn her skeeter wings give her time."

"Excuse me?" Nadir broke in from where he was lingering nearby. Daryl had seen him skulking, but thought the boy was waiting for Annie. Shyly eyeing the men, the boy cleared his throat. "I…would you also teach me? H-how to…with the rifle?"

Quirking a brow, Fay glanced first at the Dixon's then the boy, licking his bottom lip. "How's your mama feel about that?"

"She…will probably dislike it." The boy admitted.

"Well, ah, little man, when I get back from McCaysville I'll have a word with your mother, if she's alright with it, I'll take you aside and train you as well."

The boy nodded. "Thank you."

"Now get inside and grab some chow, Marine," the Lieutenant ordered.

The boy straightened. "Yes, sir!"

Watching the kid run inside, the Lieutenant shrugged and turned to the Dixon's. "You boys pick your team, then?"

Daryl nodded. "Uh, Andrea pointed me in the direction of St. James, said he's been reading up on herbs and shit, so I asked him and Milton."

"Jesus, you ain't gonna have any back-up?"

"I'm picking plants in the woods, man," Daryl snapped. "Ain't the Gaza strip."

"What about you Cajun?" Merle demanded.

"Sister Joan, Grace, Sasha and Andrea."

"You finding us food or starting a girl group, princess?" Merle demanded.

"Yeah, think I'll call us 'Lafayette and the Women Who Could Kick Merle's Ass Up and Down the State of Georgia'," the Marine retorted.

"That's not catchy at all," Merle growled.

Getting to his feet, the Lieutenant smiled down at the Dixon's. "Yeah, well, it's accurate. Oh," he stopped on his way into the kitchens, turning back to them, "by the way, Daddy Dixon, I wouldn't strut around here too much anymore, you're not the only expecting daddy at this convent."

Daryl squinted up at him.

"Well, shit!" Merle exclaimed. "I can't believe she even let you touch her, let alone stick it to her."

"Yeah, how's your sex life, Merle?" Before Merle could even open his mouth, the Lieutenant said. "Doesn't matter, my girl's vacancy sign is dark. Semper go fuck yourself, Merle!" Beaming, the man backed up into the kitchens and out of sight.

Merle sat there for a moment, stunned, before he muttered, "that fucking cocky-assed Cajun."

Daryl beamed at his brother.

"Jesus Christ, can you believe that shit? Fucking _goddamned_ Cajun," Merle went on.

"Come on, let's go get some breakfast, might be the last time we eat for a while," Daryl stated.

"She's a fucking nun," Merle went on as they got up and headed inside. "That goddamned Cajun is slick as a motherfucker."

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"No, fuck, get lost!" Cash snapped, shooing Layla off as she tried to sit beside him on the stump by the bonfire for breakfast.

Daryl and Merle, who had joined the others there to eat, eyed the poor woman who hurried away, crushed.

"Hey, man," Tyreese said, "if you don't like her, why do _you_ follow her around sometimes?"

"Go fuck yourself, that's why," Cash snapped.

"No, he has a point," Sasha said. "You watch over her, but you never like it when she gets near you."

"Yeah, what is this? The Truman Show? Stop watching my fucking life and live your own!"

Scowling, Daryl took a seat on one side of Cash, Merle on the other, both Dixon's staring the man down.

"You got a big mouth on you for a little bitch," Daryl growled.

"And you got a pretty enough mouth for any man's dick," Cash stated.

Shifting in closer to the man, Daryl eyed him. "You wanna run that by me again, short change?"

Carol slipped in between the two men smoothly, perching on the log Daryl sat on with her breakfast in her lap primly.

With a lingering look in the man's direction, Daryl reluctantly returned to his meal.

"So," Carol began, "is there any way I can come with you today to look for plants?"

He looked over at her with a small frown. The idea of her being pregnant and outside the safety of the walls settled uneasily in him, but he was never one for telling her what to do. He was torn for a response.

"If I'm extra careful?" She asked.

"I guess." He shrugged.

"Hey," Merle said from the other side of Cash and Carol, leaning forward to speak to the woman. "You know that Cajun's gonna be a daddy?"

Carol smiled softly. "Yes, I heard."

Andrea joined them, settling beside Daryl on his other side. "What's up, guys?"

"Danica and Dakota have amnesia," Cash said, taking a sip of his breakfast whiskey. "And Grace is pregnant with Lafayette's baby."

"Is he kidding?" She asked Daryl.

He shrugged, leaving the gossip to Carol, who shook her head.

"Is she keeping it?"

Deciding it was time he booked it, he had finished his small allotment of breakfast anyways, Daryl stood up, Carol following suit in preparation to leave.

"Did you hear Carl left this morning?" She asked them once they were alone in their shed after dropping off his bowl in the kitchen.

"About time, that boy needs to get out."

"I know. Rick kind of shamed him by taking his guns away like that," she went on.

"Well, can you blame him, the boy was getting different and not in a good way, I think cooling his heels was a good thing."

"But it also made him resent Rick."

"Well, shit happens," Daryl said, pausing before adding, "but he'll be fine. There's assholes out there, but ain't walkers like there used to be. Tennessee saw to that."

"That militant group?"

"Army," he corrected. "Well, what was left. You know they wanted both of us to stay, but I didn't care for them much."

"Did they just let you and the Lieutenant walk?"

Daryl scoffed. "Hell no, had to blow one of their supply sheds for cover, got the hell out of Dodge during the confusion. They wouldn't have let him just walk of either of us."

"Because he's a Marine?"

"Naw, that Colonel had it in for him, like it was personal."

"Is he dangerous?"

"No, I wouldn't worry," Daryl said. "She was mean as hell, but not crazy."

"Even after you blew up their supply shed?" She asked.

He paused, before shrugging. "Whatever, they don't know where we're from."

"That's not actually reassuring."

"Look," he said. "They'll be pissed, sure, but only at us. In some weird way they still uphold laws about murder and stealing."

"What about laws regarding blowing up US Army property?" Carol went on.

Daryl sighed. "It was the only way. She had that 'friend' of Fay's watching us."

"Kowalski?"

"Naw, some man he knew from the Corps. Rhoades. That man was sharp as a fucking hawk, always on us. Kowalski left with us, but he wanted to keep on home, so we parted after that."

"Was this Colonel 'she' sweet on the Lieutenant?"

Daryl laughed. "Hell no, those two hated each other, never saw Fay dislike someone so much. Think he resented the army brat trying to order him about."

"Because she was a woman?" Carol asked.

"You know Fay don't care one way or the other about that shit," he said, defending the Lieutenant. "Just that Marines and regular army don't really mesh. Different upbringing into the ranks, I guess or something. Fay says that in the army the grunts can choose where they get placed, but Marines don't have that choice. It's mostly about where you're best fit. Colonel Barrie was some administrative officer trying to boss a Recon Marine about like he was a common soldier. They clashed a lot, he ended up botching every mission she gave him because he hated it so much."

"You guys ran missions for her?"

Daryl scoffed. "Not well, it was a joke to the Lieutenant, see how bad he could botch it. I guess it was fun, she sure got pissed at him, berated him up and down that base like she was a drill sergeant and he was fresh off the farm. He'd only laugh in her face and make some comment that'd send her blood pressure up. Think maybe in the end, she was glad to be rid of us, which is why I don't think she put much store into finding us."

"Unless she wants retaliation for her supplies," Carol argued.

"Nah, it was only spare uniforms and boots, nothing serious. Come on, let's get heading out," he said, lightly bumping her with his elbow on his way past.

"I wish you'd tell me all about it someday," she said, catching up with him.

"Ask Fay, he'll tell you whole goddamned story in eight goddamned days," Daryl said.

They stopped at the church where he told St. James and Milton to meet him, where Fay was loading up his people into their two diesel trucks.

"You heading out?" He asked the Lieutenant who was setting Marie into the space behind the seat.

"Yeah, taking the family on a roadtrip," the man returned with a small grin. "Hope to God we find something."

"I hear congratulations are in order, Lieutenant," Carol said, stepping up and giving him a hug and a kiss.

He beamed. "Oh? Heard about that, huh? Yeah, it was hard work, but I did it."

"Harder work for me," Grace said stepping over. "I had to lie there and let you do it. You try having a swamp giant sweating and groping all over you," she whispered to Carol, "see who has the harder work to do."

"Come on, girl, you're riding me hard today," the Lieutenant protested with a faint pink tint to his cheeks. "Get your sweet little Georgia peach ass into this truck and let's go."

"I'm waiting for my baby girl," Grace protested just as Annie raced out of the church like her ass was on fire, launching at Grace, before she could make contact, Fay swooped in and caught the child, swinging her up and around.

"Hey, you're going to have to be a little more careful with your mama," he lightly scolded.

"Why?"

Fay and Grace exchanged a glance. "We'll explain when we get back."

Annie nodded and hugged him tight, adjusting her BB gun on her back as he set her down.

"You be good for Carol," Grace said, looking up at Carol as she said this. "Are you sure you're okay with watching her for us?"

"Of course, Annie and I always have fun." She said, holding out her hand to Annie. "Don't we, sweetie?"

"Um-hm."

"Take care of yourself out there," Daryl said to Fay. "Watch your ass."

The Lieutenant nodded.

Grace hugged Carol tight and smiled. "Thank you, we appreciate you watching Annie. You be careful yourself, okay?"

Carol nodded and Daryl could see the amusement in her eyes. He admired how Grace was the one going on a more dangerous run and she was telling Carol to be careful, it took some real balls.

"Alright!" Fay shouted to the others of his group who were milling around. "Marines! We are leaving!"

"How long have you been waiting to use that one, Lieutenant?" Glenn called over from where he was standing with Sasha and Andrea.

"You have no idea, Glenn." The Lieutenant said, helping Grace into the truck cab with Sister Joan. Leaning in close to Daryl before he climbed in himself, the Lieutenant murmured. "That boy watched entirely too much television before all this."

"So did you, numb nuts." Daryl returned.

Feeling Carol's hand run up and down his arm, Daryl stepped back to stand with her as Fay hopped into the truck and headed off with his group. He wasn't worried before, but now with Carol asking so many questions about Tennessee and McCaysville being so close to the border, he was feeling uneasy.

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******DarylDixon'sLover -Thank you!**

******Merle's Right Hand - Never forget what I told you about the Lt and Daryl...never forget! O_O**

******vickih - The Lt would, he seems like the bragging type. Like it's such a fucking miracle, Lt, cripes. ^_^**

******Surplus Imagination - It's a hard situation with Carl, to be sure, I think he'll straighten himself out though, he's growing in maturity every day, I think.**

******itsi3 - Aw, you're very kind and sweet! I'm glad you enjoy their banter, I figure Grace was due to loosen up eventually.**

******Littlemomma89 - That is the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a while, thank you, very much! I appreciate reviews like yours, they're what keeps me writing. I hope you continue to enjoy the series!**

******Brazen Hussy - Hrm, this chapter had Merle, but not enough...I need more!**

******Yazzy x - Thank you! Grace's secret is indeed out and the Lt just had to do everything Daryl did, because of reasons. ^_^**


	9. Beer

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**Chapter Nine: Beer**

**One Month Earlier**

****Daryl****

The CD player of their truck was playing the Eagles as rain pelted the windshield hard with so much water it was like they were driving into a hurricane.

"You're putting words in my mouth, _cabri_," the Lieutenant argued.

"No, I'm not, I'm taking what you said word for fucking word," Daryl stated.

"Look, just because I don't think Daphne was the sexy one, doesn't mean I wouldn't take her out, but I honestly thought Velma was the better woman. But in no way did I say either woman wasn't good looking."

"Yeah, but Velma wasn't supposed to be the looker, dumb ass. Daphne was the pretty one."

"Daphne was the pretty one because we were fucking told, point blank she was the pretty one. I mean, come on, _cabri_. Glasses, freckles? A little curvier than the scrawny blonde? Velma was never meant to be the pretty one, but I thought she was. That short skirt and sweater combo drove me nuts."

"At no point did I say Velma wasn't sexy," Daryl growled.

"Then why are we yelling?" The Lieutenant demanded.

"Because I'm fucking hungry!"

"Alright!" Fay shouted back, pulling the truck off the road roughly, down a major highway towards Brownsville, Tennessee. "Christ, we'll find some food."

Ignoring the fact that they were bitching like an old married couple, Daryl kept an eye out for anyplace that'd have food stuff as they entered Brownsville. What he wasn't expecting was for Fay to pull the truck over in front of a building with a dark neon sign that had at one point proudly announced it to be 'The Lover's Secret'.

"You getting desperate or something?" Daryl asked as the Cajun emerged from the truck.

"I had a friend in the Corps," he said as they walked through the rain towards the shop, "a brown-bagger, came in from off base, he was unhappily married and kind of…he liked his pornography. Anyways, he invited me over to his house one night for a…well it turned out to be a swinger's party while his wife was away and they served this pasta in the shape of…well, male endowments, let's say. It leads me to believe that we might find an easy meal here."

"Dong shaped pasta?" Daryl snapped as they inspected the door. Finding it unlocked, they carefully moved inside. "I'm not eating dick shaped pasta."

"If you're as hungry as you claim you are, you'll shut up and eat them." Fay said as they cleared the sex shop. Ensuring the doors were secured, they settled in for the night, prepared to eat and run like they had been doing, before searching the aisles for something to eat.

"Hey, flavoured lube?" Daryl tossed a tube at the Lieutenant.

He tossed it away almost as soon as it hit his hand. "No, have you ever tasted this shit? It's like Satan's ballsweat, here edible panties," he tossed a box at Daryl, who caught it and opened it.

"Why the hell would someone think this is sexy?" He demanded, taking a bite of the paper thin red plastic-looking drawers. It wasn't pretty, but he wasn't complaining. "You tell anyone we ate candied drawers, I'll knock your teeth out."

Fay smirked and held up a box that rattled in triumph. "Weenie linguini! Told you they had penis shaped pasta! Oh, oh, oh, you're in luck, _cabri_. Titty Orecchiette."

"Saved by the breast," Daryl murmured. "Still not thrilled to be eating anything in a sex shop."

"Ooh, gummy dongs!" Fay moved on to the check-out counter and popped one in his mouth. "Ugh, hard and chewy."

Easing onto a spot on the floor by their packs, Daryl continued to gnaw at his chewy panties, pretending it wasn't meant for weird sex acts.

"Mm, piece of dong stuck in there," Fay said, picking up the whole bag of gummy penis' and heading towards him, picking at his teeth. "Strawberry-banana flavoured, though. Would you like one?" He asked as he flopped down.

"No, I would hate one." Daryl snapped.

"I get it," Fay said after a moment of reading the bag. "_Strawberry-banana_, that's pretty clever."

"I'm telling your woman you put so many dicks in your mouth while we were on the road," Daryl said.

Fay laughed. "Jesus! What has our lives become?"

Daryl chuckled.

"Ah, two days, _cabri_. Then we'll be home."

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The next morning western Tennessee was hotter than hell's ninth circle, outside with his shirt thrown over his shoulder, the Lieutenant stood looking about them at the dead main street.

They had packed up the food they found that went unconsumed, but were trying to figure out the best way to head for home, straight south taking back roads or keep to the main dreg?

Playing pick-up with a desk of dirty cards he found in the shop, Daryl sat on the hood of their truck and sniffed.

"Fucking hot out," he murmured.

"Feels like home," the Lieutenant said.

"Hey," Daryl said as a military rabbit transport turned the corner of the street, "we've got life."

Moving close to where he propped Marie against the front of the truck, the Lieutenant squinted against the sun as the vehicle approached, slowing at the sight of them.

Daryl held his crossbow tight as the vehicle stopped and two soldiers emerged. No one moved, the soldiers remained at a distance, rifles in hand.

"Morning," one of them called out.

"Morning," the Lieutenant returned. "Just passing through," he added, clarifying their intent early.

The two soldiers moved out from behind the doors of their vehicle. "Just the two of you?"

"Yeah."

The one soldier nudged the other and said something softly, both looking intently at the Lieutenant's arm.

"You in the Corps?" The man asked.

"Was before all this," the Lieutenant returned, glancing at the Recon tattoo on his upper arm, the one of the hooded death in the crosshairs.

"Rank?" The woman asked.

"Lieutenant," he returned.

Both soldiers immediately approached, still keeping wary distance, but a little less threatening.

"You military?" The Lieutenant asked.

"Sir, yes, sir," the man said.

"There ain't no fort or base in Tennessee, where'd you come from," Fay said.

"Temporary Base Shit Creek, sir," the woman said. "We were sent here to defend against the infected."

"As far as we know we're the last of the US Army," the man added. "Colonel Barrie's gonna want to meet you, sir."

"Oh? Why? He have an interest in Cajuns?"

Both soldiers looked at each in confusion. "Because it's your duty to your country, sir."

"My duty? To meet with this Colonel Barrie?"

"To rejoin with the armed forces," the woman said. "And serve the remnants."

Glancing at Daryl, Fay shrugged. They weren't equipped to fight too much, Marie was down to about twenty rounds and his crossbow wasn't in the best of shape for a fight.

"Well, let's meet with this Colonel of yours," the Lieutenant said, sighing heavily. "But let's get this over quickly, yeah?"

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Inside the transport, as the one soldier followed behind them in their truck, Daryl leaned in close to the Lieutenant.

"What do you figure?" He whispered under the roar of the heavy duty military vehicle.

"I don't know," he whispered back. "If it's actual army personnel it could go either way. They usually run the gamut from friendly and helpful to a rag-tag-bag of dicks."

"Yeah? Well, as long as they ain't looking for a fight, we don't got much lift in us."

Fay nodded grimly.

They finally pulled in through the chain link gate of what looked like an old lumber yard, where a series of tents had been erected and handful of soldiers moved about loaded down with guns and armour.

Peering out through the narrow rectangular window of the transport, Daryl tried to count them, but lost count after forty as they just kept passing soldiers.

They pulled up before a tent like all the others and the man driving the transport hopped out to open the back hatch for them.

Daryl and the Lieutenant emerged, both clutching their weapons nervously. They just wanted to get home.

After a few minutes of waiting with their soldier escorts, the Lieutenant cleared his throat. "So, tell me, this base of yours, you get hit by any big groups of uggies?"

"Uggies, sir?" The woman asked.

"Walkers," Daryl clarified.

"Walkers?" The woman repeated.

"Never mind," Fay murmured. "So," he barked suddenly. "Who's in charge of this unit then? Do I get an introduction or am I to stand about waving my dick in the wind?"

"I don't see your dick at all," someone said from their left. "It's either hiding or too small to wave in the wind."

Daryl's hand twitched for Salt at his side, as a tall redheaded woman approached. From the uniform and the way her hair was pulled back tight and sleek, and from the way the two before them straightened, he figured she was the CO they were looking for.

"What?" She inquired calmly. "Not going to salute me…Sergeant?" She guessed, looking Fay up and down.

"Lieutenant, actually," Fay replied with a grin. "I know I read Sergeant, but they didn't have time to give me another stripe, everyone was kind of dying."

The woman nodded, eyeing both men with warm brown eyes. "And your friend? He reads…mechanic?"

"Brain surgeon, actually," the Lieutenant pointed out. "Pretty damned good one, too."

"Oh? Did he work on yours? Salute me, Lieutenant," she commanded.

Rubbing his chin, Fay contemplated this. "With all due respect, ma'am. I don't wanna."

The woman smiled a bright and beaming smile and nodded. "Are you always this insolent?"

"Only with superiors with red hair, ma'am."

"Don't like red hair?"

"Oh, I love red hair, I just find I can get away with being insolent more with redheads."

Her smile faded somewhat and she leaned in close to him. "You might think a winning grin, pretty face and a sexy Cajun drawl can give you the right to charm your way out of saluting me, but I will break your arm if you don't show me a little more respect."

"I've never had my accent called sexy by a CO before," the Lieutenant whispered back. "But then again Colonel Davenport was happily married with three kids, any compliments he paid me like that would have meant a serious lifestyle change for him." Stepping back from her with a grin, the Lieutenant saluted suddenly. "Ma'am."

She looked him up and down, before sighing. "Alright, I understand now. You've been slapped with insubordination before."

"Yeah, but the incident with the grenade was…I like to call it training."

"How on earth did you make Lieutenant?"

"Oh Lord, let's see, paperwork, paperwork, uh death, poker hand, more paperwork, found a lost kitten, death, paperwork, I think there was a draw I won, death and then another death.

"You trained Marines, I'm assuming."

"Yes, yes, ma'am, I did."

"And you're…what use to anyone?"

"I can comb my hair really fast."

"Well, I'm sorry we made the mistake thinking you'd be of any use to us."

"Yeah? Well, semper fi, lady," the Lieutenant stated with a frown.

Daryl felt the man's 'semper fi' might have been a little sarcastic.

"Still, we need all the men we can get, your friend needs to walk though. We don't house civilians."

"Whoa, hold the fuck up," the Lieutenant said. "I'm not staying, we just want to be on our way."

"You're a registered member of the Marine Corps, are you not, Lieutenant?"

"Yeah, but—"

"The armed forces need you, your duty is here." She motioned to the tent around them. "If you consent to stay, we'll let your friend join up."

"And if I say 'nertz to that'?"

"No one says 'no', Lieutenant. Cadwell? Get Sergeant Rhoades," the Colonel turned to him. "Otis Rhoades," she explained. "He's a Marine, like you, Lieutenant. Do you know him?"

"Yeah, I know everyone in the Corps, we all had a field day once, got to meet each other, eat some hot dogs."

The Colonel smiled dryly. "Well, cute. We'll provide you with a tent and supplies enough to get by and in return you'll be expected to keep yourself in top condition and serve the armed forced by bettering our survival rate."

"Right and at the end of the day, who's in charge?"

"Me," she said.

"Right, but after that?"

"Me. I'm the highest ranked officer at this base and you'll answer to me."

"Neat," Daryl murmured, clearly not pleased with this new development.

As a tall, dark haired man rounded the corner of one of the tents, the dwarfed soldier at his heels like an eager puppy, Fay cleared his throat and took a step back.

"When shortstack here said there was a Marine on the base, I figured it'd have to be one of the toughest bastards I ever knew."

"Otis," Fay returned taking the hand and shaking it warmly. "Still dressing up in women's underwear for kicks?"

The man laughed boisterously. "Sure, dual-cool, whatever you say."

"Clearly you do know Sergeant Rhoades," Colonel Barrie said.

The Lieutenant smiled broadly at her. "I didn't say I didn't."

"Well, Sergeant Rhoades, I want you on these boys for the first few weeks, get them settled with our routine," Colonel Barrie said.

"Sure, ma'am, I think I get what you're aiming at."

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"So we're holed up in this old, abandoned hotel, some Podunk town in the desert, babysitting about ten men with rifles, they don't look like they want us there and we didn't want be there, about three hours in, crouching there on that balcony in the heat, I have to take a leak, I mean bad. So this mad Cajun, pulls off his boot and gives it to me to use. We dropped it over the shadowy side of the balcony when I finished into some old, broke assed cart. To this day I still laugh to think there's a size ten tread filled with piss sitting in that broke assed cart in the desert and the sight of him hobbling back to the base with one socked foot."

"Lieutenant Bryant chewed me out for three days for losing my boot, you know?" Fay broke in. "Lose an arm over there and it's still not as bad as losing a piece of equipment."

They were sitting around a card table in one of the army tents assigned to them, Daryl sullenly seated on a cot in the corner trying to fix a few of his broken bolts, Fay reminiscing with his old friend over a few beers.

"So, tell me," Fay began after a moment, taking a calm sip of his beer. "What's the skinny on this place?"

"US Army," Rhoades said with a shrug.

"Yeah…and since when do Marines play nice with the army brats?"

Rhoades shrugged. "Where's the Corps, dual-cool?"

"If they're smart, they've assimilated into the tribes."

"Tribes?" Rhoades demanded. "You're talking like this is the Wild West and we're surrounded by the Apache's and Comanche's."

"Is there a political office still in charge?"

"No."

"Then it is the Wild West."

"No, it's Martial Law, Fate. You know that. In absence of a civilian government, the military holds power."

"Oh yeah, with – what? – fifty armed men? You think you can hold power with that many, Otis? Go right ahead, but I don't know why your Colonel wants to keep us here against our will."

"Against your will? Fate, you're a goddamned Marine, your duty is—"

"My duty is long gone, Otis. There isn't anything around here but roving gangs of murders and cutthroats, my new mission is to protect an innocent group that fed me and took care of me after the Corps went under. You don't think I didn't try to find them? HQ was full of uggies when I went back, I carried a radio on my back for months hoping to hear something, anything from the Corps. And all I found was a struggling group and scrawny garden."

Rhoades leaned back in his chair. "You have a girl in this group, Fate? What am I asking? You always have a girl in every port."

The Lieutenant took a sip of beer. "This one's different."

"Well, that's rough for you, because as a Marine, you know you belong here with us."

"_Mais_, that's rough for you, because as a man I know I belong there with them."

Taking another sip of beer, Rhoades sighed. "You were always pig-headed."

"Yeah, used to be a quality you admired in me."

"Still do, but unfortunately for the good of the people, I can't let you go."

"So? We're prisoners? We've broken out of worse dumps than this," Fay stated with a bitter grin.

"You're not prisoners, your boy there can walk all he wants, no one cares, but you're a Marine. Your mission is this."

"You can't honestly believe that," Fay argued.

"The world we know is gone, this is the last of it. Semper fi, Marine, you know that better than I."

"Yeah, I do. But this craphole ain't the Corps and there's nothing you or anyone else can do that'll make me bow down to some army Colonel. And I know you, Otis. You're not happy with this arrangement, you're miserable."

"That might be, but—"

"But you're a coward? Can't live without the safety net of the military life. I know. Why do you think I joined up in the first place? But the fact of the matter is, we'd do better among the people struggling to survive then we do here trying to rebuild a world that's long gone."

"Well," Rhoades said, downing the rest of his beer and setting it on the table. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Fate. I am. But you know I can't let you out of this camp."

"Not even if I told you I was going be married?"

Rhoades paused. "No. Congratulations, though, dual-cool. She must be pretty damned special. I know it was hard after Eloise."

"Once a brother, always a brother, Rhoades," Fay said, climbing to his feet to address the other Marine. "But kindly get the fuck out of my tent."

Rhoades glanced over at Daryl, who calmly leaned over the edge of the cot and spit onto the dirt floor. Quietly, Rhoades left and Daryl knew he wouldn't go far.

"We'll get home, _cabri_," Fay assured him softly. "Don't worry." He turned to face Daryl with solemn eyes. "I'll get you home to your girl."

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**********The Marine Dialect**

**********Dual-cool (or double-trouble) - Implies that the Lieutenant is trained in both parachuting and diving.**

**********Skeeter wings (or mosquito wings) - From the previous chapter (sorry), means the bar a private in the Marine Corps earns upon completion of their basic training.**

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**********Merle's Right Hand - Ehehehe, on****ce you see it, you can't unsee it!**_**  
**_

**********auntheddy - I see what you did there. First people were calling her Orphan Annie, now that (and believe me that wasn't my intention when I named her!)**

**********DarylDixon'sLover - He'll be fine. He's got moxy! ^_^**

**********Brazen Hussy - Just imagine every minor character in this chapter was played by Michael Rooker. That'll appease your Merle lust. ^_^**

**********Whooptiedoo - ...perhaps. ^_^**

**********Yazzy x - I always suspected Fay would be a proud daddy. He seems the peacock type.**

**********Surplus Imagination - I'm glad you're picking up on all the foreshadowing. I appreciate people who have an eye for details.**

**********HGRHfan35 - The Lt seems like such a pansexual manwhore, he's probably take you up on that offer (as long as Grace okayed it).**

**********vickih - My goal with Cash is once people start to warm up to him, remind them that he is - in fact - a complete douchebag.**

**********itsi3 - O_O! Thanks!**

**********Claire Randall Fraser - Okay, I'm working on it! Trust me! I know he needs some lovin'! ^_^**

**********Queenola-Witty - Ding ding ding! You won my secret contest to find my favourite line of that last chapter, you don't win anything, but my admiration for spotting and appreciating it!**


	10. Rabbit

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**Chapter Ten: Rabbit  
**

****Carl****

He fucked up.

At the time he thought it was right, but after months of being reduced to something less than a man, he observed enough to know where he went wrong. He watched the other men, the women like Michonne who were more warrior than caregiver and he figured it out.

He was hot headed and rash.

Stalking through the Georgian countryside, he knew what he needed to do to get back to being a full man again. He needed to feed the group.

It was simple. Find food at any cost.

At first he thought maybe he'd head over to Delgado's see if they had anything to spare, but he realized he didn't have anything Delgado would want to trade, so he headed out figuring he'd find something or think of something.

Just having the room to breathe, the ever winding road before him, was enough for the moment. He liked the solitude and the still warm morning sun brought to mind fond memories of his mother.

Better times.

By noon he had put a good many miles behind him and was entering a small town they had already picked over. It was the type of town that looked like it had been the perfect 'Mayberry' type of place before everything went down. Even though the planters on Main Street now sported weeds and grass from the seed birds had dropped and the place was littered with things people lost in their haste to escape.

Kicking a shoe out of his way, Carl avoided a splotch on the sidewalk that looked like a few walkers had a feeding frenzy a while back, all that remained was half rotted tendon and bone and a blood stain on the sidewalk that had seemed into the cement, staining it rusty brown.

Maybe he'd check out old bags of food and stuff for a place to go, like Carol did when she found out about McCaysville. There had to be more places like that around.

Carl stopped mid-step at the sight of a man strolling down the street towards him, loaded down with gear kind of like what the Lieutenant looked like when he was geared up.

Pressing back into a doorway, he watched as the man moved easily under the weight, rifle in his hands.

As the man drew closer, Carl could see the gear was almost exactly like the gear the Lieutenant and Kowalski wore and figured he had to be military. As he drew closer still, Carl almost mistook him for Kowalski, but this man had a little bit leaner face, more pointed jawline.

Then the man passed by his location, still in the middle of the street.

Seeing the weight of the pack, Carl had a moment where he was tempted to raise his pistol and just take care of the solitary man, but he stopped his hand in thought. The man was alone, but there might be more of them.

Quietly, carefully he emerged from his hiding spot, using parked cars to hide behind as he followed the man as he turned the corner of Main Street and paused suddenly by a black brick wall.

Carl ducked behind a mail box and watched as the man set his pack down and strapped his rifle to his back. Kneeling he dug through his pack and pulled out a spray paint can, eyeing the wall as he shook it.

Deeply curious about what the man was doing, Carl watched as he sprayed CHARLIE in bright orange letters. Behind him Carl heard someone approaching and hurried to slip under a nearby SUV, peeking out as a woman joined the man.

"This place is empty, Ryan," she said. "There's nothing left anywhere."

Interrupted, the man paused after the name Charlie and eyed her with his bright blue eyes under his helmet. "Doesn't matter, there's a river nearby, we can always eat our fish of trout."

The woman, tall, middle aged and beautiful as a classic movie actress, eyed the orange name quietly, before saying, "I take it we're staying in the area for a few days?"

"That's what I like about you, Gwen," the man said. "You're the brains of this operation."

"Okay, grumpy," the woman said. "Just remember who fries rabbit the way you like it."

"You mean well done over a fire?" The man demanded.

Smiling, the woman motioned with a tilt of her head in the direction she had come from. "Come on, you can finish your paint job later, let's see how Simone and Phoebe did."

"I'll be right there," the man said, quickly shaking the can and finishing his message in foot high letters. He stepped back and admired his work for a moment, before turning and heading off after the woman.

Carl waited a good fifteen minutes, before crawling out from under the high SUV, eyeing the letters with a frown.

CHARLIE KOWALSKI, IF YOU SEE THIS MEET UP WITH ME AT MARINE HQ. - RYAN

"Kowalski?" Carl murmured. Was Charlie his first name? But he went home to Wyoming.

He gazed in the direction the man and woman had gone with a scowl, before quietly moving off after them, keeping to the shadows and coverage of vehicles cautiously.

As he crept along, he spied the same message left on the wall on everything possible, like the mad scribbling's of a psychopath. Only it somehow oddly made sense to him.

The man was desperate to find Kowalski, and seemed to know where he should be, which meant he knew Kowalski from before things went bad. Maybe family by the way he looked almost like him, but not quite.

Stopping near a big old brick house just off of Main Street, where the man disappeared inside with the woman, Carl staked it out for about an hour, debating what to do. He just wanted to be on his way, doing his own thing, but something bothered him about leaving without telling the man anything about his brother. If he left a note, the man might think it shady, if he met up with him and he had more people, he could be overwhelmed and in serious shit.

What would his dad do?

Well, his dad would leave the man, but Carl was fast discovering that not everything his father did was the right decision.

So what would Daryl do? Or Merle? Or the Lieutenant?

Daryl might leave him alone too or maybe he'd go. Daryl was a hard one to decipher. Merle definitely would leave the man searching. But the Lieutenant?

Carl rubbed his hands on his thighs, wiping the midday Georgian sweat off them and licked his bottom lip.

No, the Lieutenant wouldn't hesitate to go up to that door.

"Don't move," someone whispered roughly to him.

He froze absolutely still.

"Drop that gun, kid."

Carl didn't know how the man lapped him, last he saw he was heading into the house, but that voice was his and there was no doubt in his mind that the man had a gun trained on him, so he slowly complied, removing his father's pistol and setting it down gingerly, hands going up.

"Well, you're smart at least," the man said, moving to pat him down quickly, manhandling Carl up and against the car he was hiding behind. "Any more of you around?"

"No," Carl said honestly as the man spun him around and continued to pat him for a concealed weapon.

Up close he could read the tag on the man's jacket. It read KOWALSKI in tiny capital letters.

"What are you skulking around for?" The man asked, stepping heavily on the pistol on the ground, keeping his rifle trained on Carl.

"I think I know who you're looking for," Carl said.

The man looked him up and down. "Yeah?"

"He's deaf, isn't he? This Kowalski?"

"Last I heard," the man eyed him again critically, narrowing his electric blue eyes at Carl, before he shifted on his feet and sighed. "Okay, if you promise not to be a bonehead, you can have your gun back."

Resenting being called a bonehead, Carl knelt slowly and retrieved his freed gun, slowly setting it back in its holster and standing again.

The man shouldered his rifle and eyed him. "So?"

"He's nearby, with a group, well not right now, I heard from someone who heard from someone that he's heading home to Wyoming."

"Of course he is," the man muttered. "Little tit." Shifting on his feet again, the man sighed and said, "alright, you get gone now or I will shoot your ass."

Carl frowned as the man turned to leave. "Hey," he objected.

"What?" The man snapped.

"That's it?" He caught up with the man, following just behind him.

"Your story seems to check out, it'd be a hell of a coincidence for you to know about him being deaf and from Wyoming," the man said.

"I mean, that's all I get for helping you?"

"Quid pro quo, huh?" The man said as he continued to march towards the house, crossing the street.

"It's only fair," Carl argued. "I helped you, now you help me."

"Cool story, kid, but welcome to the real world."

"Kowalski might be back," Carl argued. "I don't know if they said he was gone for good, only that he has family there…you, I guess?"

"Just me," the man sighed. He stopped suddenly, Carl practically ramming into him from behind. "Is he from your group? Charlie?"

"Depends," Carl said.

"On whether I help you?"

"I need to find a lot of food," Carl explained. "Like, a lot."

"Do I look like a Winn-Dixie? Come on, kid."

"Look, I need to do this, it's important." He didn't just mean for the group, but if he could do this, bring home the food they needed, maybe he could regain some of what he lost.

"The best kind of pride is knowing you've done something on your own," the man said. "So…you know, go do that…alone."

Carl scowled deeply at him.

The man sighed. "Look, dude, I get home from overseas on leave, right? My mom calls, my baby brother is in Georgia, deaf because of an explosion, then the next day there's this weird guy in our backyard in Cheyenne. Only when my girlfriend goes out to see what's up, he eats her face off, so naturally, I'm freaking out. Three days later I get called back to service, only shit's going down like a motherfucker, my unit goes up, there's no sign of anyone remotely in charge, so I head home, I'm back on the ranch with the family, only my brother Jordan's dead, my dad is in denial about the dead just walking around, my baby sister gets ripped apart by an infected, my mom freaks out, has a stroke, then things really go to shit. All winter I take care of her, protect the rest of my family from these things and then everyone up and dies on me anyways. Baby bro Charlie is my only hope to find family still alive and I'm not really in the mood to help anyone but myself."

"What about that woman?" Carl asked.

"What?"

"You said your girlfriend got her face eaten off, so who's the woman you're helping?"

"Alright, look, give me a break, okay? Do you know what kind of hell I went through to get here?"

"It'll probably take Kowalski a few months to get back, if he comes back at all," Carl said. "You may as well just help me out, because you'll be needing the food soon too and I could use the back up."

"That's your best argument, huh?" The man asked. "Seems kind of…weak."

"If you help me out, Delgado might let you stay on with his group," Carl pointed out. "That's where Kowalski would be if he gets back."

"That's an even worse argument," the man said. "Go home, kid."

"I'm not a kid."

"Yeah, you have a gun, but you're – what? Like twelve?"

"Fourteen," Carl growled.

"Come on, Ryan, let's help him," the woman from earlier said as she stood on the front porch of the house with two young girls. "I think he's cute. Like a little lost puppy."

"You're killing me, Gwen," Ryan said.

Carl eyed one of the girls in particular, a pretty, pixie-like girl who looked about his age. She smiled sweetly at him from where she stood holding a rifle by the porch swing, but dropped the smile when her mother glanced over.

"Ryan, let's help him, he seems cool," the girl said.

"Simone, you're a hormone riddled teenager, what he seems like, is a boy your age," Ryan objected.

"He's right, honey," Gwen said. "You're just horny."

"Mom!" The girl exclaimed. "Jesus Christ!"

"Simone, a girl your age is so riddled with teenage angst and hormones that if Ryan were younger and didn't act like complete and utter shit, you'd be after him."

"I can hear you," Ryan called over his shoulder.

"Actually, I'm not entirely sure any woman would be stupid enough to go after Ryan. Maybe I should be proud that you recognized that stranger danger, baby."

"Every word, Gwen," Ryan reminded her dryly.

The woman turned to Carl with a warm smile. "What's your name, baby?"

"Carl Grimes," he said.

"Carl, I'm Gwen, why don't you come inside. We'll see what we can do for you."

Carl hesitated. Talking to these people on the street was one thing, but following them into their temporary set up seemed dangerous. There could be more of them.

Sensing this, the woman descended from the porch and approached. He could see the natural warmth and kindness she had to the almost stunning beauty of her face. He thought she looked like some kind of angel, her brown eyes were so welcoming and her smooth, flawless skin seemed to invite him to drink her in.

"Where's your family, Carl?" She asked him.

"My mom's dead," Carl said. "My dad is back home with my baby sister."

"Why aren't you with them?" Gwen asked.

Her voice kind of reminded him of his mother's, it had that motherly tone to it that he missed and it almost brought tears to his eyes.

Glancing at the girl on the porch, he cleared his throat and shrugged. "They need food. If we don't get enough before winter, a lot of my people will starve."

"And you want a little help to find them some food, hm?" Gwen said. "I know what that's like, we had a tight winter, the girls and I."

Ryan cleared his throat. "Yeah, I recall helping with that."

"I recall thanking you," Gwen said breezily, smiling at Carl. "Okay, Carl, if Ryan won't help you, I will. We'll find some food for your family."

Carl nodded. "This'll make them happy with me."

"Happy with you?"

He shrugged.

Gwen looked him over with her beautiful, whiskey coloured eyes. "What happened, Carl?"

Again he shrugged. "Doesn't matter. This'll get me back on top with them."

"Carl," Gwen began softly, leaning in close to him, "I understand."

He didn't say anything. The woman was making him uncomfortable with her eyes, the way they seemed to peer right through him into his mind.

"Ryan's a stick in the mud, because he doesn't know how else to act," Gwen went on. "The bad things we've seen, they just stay there behind our eyelids, so that every time we close our eyes, we see them. You stick with me, baby," Gwen said with a smile. "I'll help you get your food. Come on, come inside, let's see what we can do about changing grumpy's mind. How much food do you need?" She asked as they headed inside.

"About six thousand pounds," Carl said.

"Six thousand pounds, Gwen, what is that in metric?" Ryan shouted after her from behind them.

"Two thousand, seven hundred and some kilos, Ryan," she returned casually.

"That was rhetorical."

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"Let's see here, Alabama, Texas, Texas, Texas, Wisconsin…"

Gwen was going through empty food wrappers and boxes, looking for another place in Georgia to find more food, while Carl said quietly at the kitchen table, sipping from a bottle of water she offered him and eating some stale oyster crackers she had pulled from her bag for him.

Ryan sat at the window in the front parlour, sullenly eyeing the street beyond, while Gwen's two daughters sat beside Carl on either side.

"You're kind of broody, aren't you?" Simone asked him. She was a coltish girl with long, straight brown hair and a face like her mother's. In contrast, her sister Phoebe was a freckled, strawberry blonde with glasses and a curvier frame.

Phoebe didn't worry him so much, as she stayed behind a book on technical engineering.

"What?" Carl demanded. "I'm not."

"Yeah, you are, my mom would say you have an adolescent anxiety disorder due to a recent event or loss, but I think it's kind of sexy."

"Simone," Phoebe said from behind her book, "your whole life will forever be a sexual anxiety disorder." She dropped the book and looked across Carl at her sister. "As in you creep people out."

"Well, at least my anxiety disorder isn't social," Simone snapped.

"Baby's," Gwen murmured from the kitchen cupboard, "you're both beautiful messes, but if you keep fighting I will poison your food. Ooh! Here! Uh, oatmeal…dry goods, Atlanta, Georgia!" She hopped over to show Carl the empty canister.

"No," Ryan said from the parlour. "No major cities, you know that, Gwen!"

"But the infected will be mostly all gone," she protested. "We might have a better chance at finding untouched food in Atlanta."

"You might be right," Carl said. "The dead around here, they've been rotting, dying off. Maybe they kept looters out of Atlanta, we might find a lot more than just that factory…grocery stores untouched, uh, houses, it might all be untouched! I didn't even think of Atlanta! Well, none of us did, it was a graveyard! Dangerous, but…Atlanta. I'll go to Atlanta. Thank, Gwen!" Carl stood up abruptly and headed for the door.

Gwen caught him in the parlour. "Wait, honey, we're going to Atlanta. We're going to help you. Aren't we?" She asked Ryan.

"No," he said.

"Yes," she said, turning back to Carl. "We'll get your people the food they need. I can't let anyone starve, especially if there's children."

"No," Carl said. "Maybe you'd better not, it's going to be dangerous."

"Carl, I've come this far, despite what Ryan might tell you, I'm kind of a touch old broad."

"She really is," Simone insisted, moving to stand beside her mother.

"We'll all go with you to Atlanta and if we find more than enough food for your people, then all I ask is you give us some, deal?" She said.

Carl nodded and stuck out his hand. "Alright, but only if we find more than enough for my people."

Gwen shook his hand warmly.

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**********DarylDixon'sLover - Bitch is accurate. ^_^**

**********Brazen Hussy - Even the female characters, eh?**

**********itsi3 - Well, look at it this way. At least the convent is hard to find.**

**********Yazzy x - Well, you know the Lt. stocked up on stuff to trade to Merle with.**

**********Merle's Right Hand - Thanks for giving me the sex store food idea! ^_^ Seriously, they did.**

**********Surplus Imagination - No one ever thinks of the sex shop for useful things...like rubber marital aids as blackjacks or clubs...**

**********vickih - Thanks, I'm actually pleased to be able to see both the Lt's pov and Rhoades pov on the subject.**

**********spygrrl99 - Oh, they're so a married couple...without the sex, but I like to think on the road as they were, they just sort of grew closer than ever. Bickering close.**

**********Fairies Masquerade - If she doesn't show up, one of us isn't doing our job.**


	11. Daylily

******************This chapter is dedicated to the beautiful and talented Merle's Right Hand, because she needs all the love and support she can get right now. Many of you may know Merle's Right Hand as the lovely lady who designed the kick ass covers for all three fics in this series, I know her as a sexy temptress who makes me smile and supports me more than anyone I've ever known. You're full on class and sass, babes. Love you.**

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**Chapter Eleven: Daylily  
**

****Carol****

They were gathering daylilies from a farmyard of all places, where they were growing wild and unmanaged in a side flower bed.

Daryl, kneeling with a cloth sack filled to the brim with them, seemed intent on his work.

Carol, meanwhile, was looking about at the farmyard.

At one time the house and lands must have been beautiful. A classic Georgian plantation house dominated the yard, not as grand as most, but it had the look that at one time it was a place of grandeur and beauty.

Milton and St. James were on the other side of the house cutting more daylilies for dinner. Daryl told her there wasn't a single part of the daylily that wasn't edible, but he said be careful with the tubers, they could transplant them back at the convent for another perennial food source alongside the rhubarb in the rose garden.

"Five percent of people who eat daylilies may get sick," Daryl said suddenly, pausing his work to eye her.

She recognized his sweet attempt at conversation and smiled.

"But that's an allergic reaction," he finished.

Carol saw some of the Lieutenant's chatty nature was rubbing off on him and encouraged it with a smile, moving in closer to him.

"You know," she said. "This is the first time we've been this alone in a long time."

He looked up through spikes of hair as he continued to gather daylilies. "Oh? Bending his head back to his work he was quiet for a moment, before adding almost shyly. "Want to screw around?"

She paused for a second. "Really?"

With a faint blush, Daryl shrugged. "We can spare about ten minutes."

"Quickie in the garden?" She inquired.

"Hell no," he said, standing up and brushing dirt off his hands. "Milton might be a total librarian recluse, but he walks like a fucking cat." Daryl held out his hand to her, eyes unable to meet hers.

Quirking a brow, Carol pursed her lips, before taking the offered hand and allowing him to lead her into the old house and up the creaky walnut stairs in search of a room.

It used to bother her just walking around in someone else's home. She was woman who had never broken the law, not even a speeding ticket, so trespassing was weird for her, even now with the occupants long dead.

Daryl, unphased by this intrusion, pushed open a door and gently pulled her into a classy, bed and breakfast style room, complete with cornhusk dolls on the walls and an antique spinning wheel in the corner.

Carol fingered the quilt on the bed as he moved to secure the door, musing at how thick and well stitched it was, wondering in the back of her mind if Daryl would mind her somewhat swollen belly.

He must not, because soon she found a hand slipping around her waist, coming to rest over top of it and Daryl moved to press himself against her firmly from behind, chin moving to rest on her shoulder.

Covering his hand with hers, Carol smiled and angled her face to his, bumping noses.

His serious features had her smile fading somewhat.

"Are you scared?" She asked him.

"Hell no," he said. "Never been scared in my life."

"A little bit, though, right?" She teased.

"We only got ten minutes, woman," he argued, spinning her around so fast she fell onto the bed on her ass, bouncing with a laugh and looking up at him with shining eyes as he moved to carefully cover her with his body, mindful of crushing her bump.

Daryl was never a gentle lover, Carol had found that out the fun way, but what he lacked in gentility he made up for in enthusiasm and an honest desire to please her and it made her forget that sometimes his scruff rasped too hard against her delicate skin, or that his fingers didn't know their own strength when he plucked at her nipples, but she kind of liked it. She wouldn't want him any other way.

Carefully, she unbuttoned his shirt, hands running across his wide shoulders, enjoying the warmth of him, even the sticky feel of his sweat.

It honoured her that he was so comfortable with being so vulnerable around her. Daryl never took his shirt off in front of anyone but her and she had seen her fair share of half naked men at the convent, especially in the Georgian summer heat. But not Daryl, he'd pass out before going shirtless and it hurt her that he was so ashamed of his scars. In a small way, it was a shame too, because the women of the convent, the single women who liked to look and admire when the men weren't paying attention, would have loved Daryl's body if only they had a chance.

She smiled a little proudly, thinking maybe it was a good thing she had one up over everyone else.

As she leaned down to kiss him, her hand sliding down from his shoulders, over his chest, towards his stomach, his own sandpapery hand slid up her blouse, running across her stomach almost reverently.

When she pulled away from the kiss and looked down at him, she found such a strange look in his eyes that it gave her to pause. This wasn't going to be just another sexual escapade, but the look in his eyes, the way his hand touched her, she knew he was preparing to worship her like the ancient Pagans worshipped their fertility goddesses and she laughed, almost purred.

"What's that look?" She asked softly.

"What look?"

"Like you want to fall prostrate at my feet."

"What?" He demanded, looking away like he had been caught. "No."

Carol removed her blouse as his hand continued to move across her stomach, over and under the bump, around and around like a child putting to mind everything about their favourite stuff animal.

"The Navajo sing a song of the Changing Woman to a pregnant woman of the tribe," he began sheepishly. "It talks about how the Changing Woman comes closest to being the personification of the Earth. To them she represents the never ending journey of the Seasons, birth, maturing, growing old and Dying, only to have her reborn again in the Spring." His hands moved across her stomach again, before slipping up over her breasts and around her shoulders, pulling her down for a kiss. When they pulled apart, he went on. "Changing Woman was a child born to First Man and First Woman, she grew up in four days. And with every stage of her life, first menstruation to when she gets pregnant, eventually, Changing Woman creates the people of the land from skin shed from her body. So, even if Changing Woman died, she would always be reborn."

"You didn't want to sing the song to me, did you?" She teased.

He smiled. "Woman, I don't know the damned song, I just told you about the story, ain't that enough?"

She laughed. "Yes, and I like the story all the same," she said, leaning down and kissing him again, this time his hand moved to struggle with her bra clasp. He was getting better, but still needed a little more practice before it sprung open for him and he took one of her breasts in his hand. They were gradually getting bigger to match her stomach, soon she'd need a bigger bra size, but for now a little split top butter roll tit through her shirt was okay. And with her bra off, it didn't matter anyways, Daryl's hands almost always liked to cup her breasts when they were making love.

Kissing his chin, she dipped lower and lower with each kiss, ending up pressing her lips to the area just above his navel and smirking wickedly up at him.

"Your tits are getting bigger," he murmured as she slipped the button of his pants through the hole and opened them.

"You _are_ related to Merle," she mused. "I was beginning to wonder."

"A Dixon man knows the tits he loves," he said, lifting his hips to help her remove his pants.

Standing up anyways to toss his pants aside, Carol took the moment to shimmy out of her own pants, knowing full well he was watching her and turning to calmly fold their pants, giving him a view of her rear and tormenting him by taking her time.

When she turned back he had propped himself up on his elbows and was watching her with a small furrow of impatience between his brows.

With a cat-like grin, she slipped out of her panties and playfully tossed them at his head.

Daryl batted them out of mid-air casually with his hand and smiled smugly at her.

When she approached the bed, he stopped her gently with a hand on her hip, pressing a kiss to her stomach, before allowing her to finally join him on the bed.

By the time she was positioned properly and their hips were rocking, she was already melting in the heat of the late Georgian afternoon and the stifling lack of air flow in the bedroom.

Moving together, slick with sweat, she halfway there when he paused and tilted his head.

Carol clung hard to him, still and straining to listen. "What is it?"

"Nothing," he murmured into her hair, bumping his hips up and meeting her unexpectedly.

She made a soft gasping 'oh', before joining him again.

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Resting his head carefully on her chest, closer to his stomach, Daryl continued to run his hand over her stomach. Carol ran her hand through his hair as he did so, amusing on how long it was already. Just before he left she had cut it and now he looked like a sheepdog again.

Wondering if they had a boy, whether he'd have his father's alley cat looks, complete with that icy cold look he could have when angered. Maybe it'd be a girl, who could use that icy look to keep people from hassling her. How stubborn would a little boy be? How hard headed like his father. What kind of temper would he have? But on the other hand how difficult would a daughter be? She'd be a beautiful little angel with a devil's mind and her daddy's determination.

After Lori, she didn't think she could ever watch anyone bring a child into a world like theirs. It was ugly and unpredictable, she didn't think she'd have to worry about it. She wasn't honestly thinking she could get pregnant again, but…she couldn't even contemplate being remotely disappointed about the situation. And come hell or high water, she would do everything for the baby and knew there was no way Daryl wouldn't lay down his life for it either.

Even now she could see his devotion to the baby and it was beautiful to watch, seeing the man who kept himself hidden to well behind a gruff veneer melting to a content housecat as he touched his child through her own flesh.

Finally, almost sadly, he inhaled and began to draw himself together to sit up. "We'd better get back out there," he said, hand still resting on her stomach.

Pushing up onto her elbows, she frowned, but understood the rush. They needed to get enough for everyone for the day.

Still, she didn't want to go at all. She wanted to stay there forever, in a bed, in an actual bedroom of an actual house, pretending things were still normal.

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When they emerged from the house, the first thing Carol found was a red faced Milton holding a bunch of daylilies and a smug looking St. James who had gathered more rhubarb from a cluster of it near the house.

Milton couldn't meet their eye and St. James would only smile at them.

Carol returned the smile brightly and offered Milton a kind squeeze on the arm as she passed by him.

Unlike her compassion, Daryl glared at Milton and demanded, "why so pink, rabbit-brain?"

"Georgia," Milton explained in a fluster. "I mean nothing."

Stalking off in an opposite direction from Carol, Daryl hopped onto a tractor and took a look around from a better vantage point.

"I told you not to go looking for them," she heard St. James hiss to Milton as she moved across the yard to look for more daylilies or perennial food to pick.

So that was the sound Daryl had heard while they were in the middle of the moment.

As she moved across the farmyard, she spied several weathered children's toys lying scattered in a small sandbox. Kneeling, she picked up a half buried dump truck and frowned at the thought of what became of the child who once played with it.

Setting the truck down, she looked beyond it to where a tricycle sat upturned and the mother inside her wept, beyond the tricycle, however, she spied a familiar spike of something planted in an upraised flower bed and moved past the sandbox and the tricycle, kneeling by the bed to touch the green spikes.

The asparagus wasn't ready to be harvested yet, but she put to memory the plant for later in the summer. Pulling an old, worn journal from her bag along with a pen, she scribbled it down to remember, adding the eggplant, leek, okra and horseradish that seemed to be growing in the same raised planter.

Standing up, she moved towards a nearby garden shed in the hopes of find a watering can to hunt down water to give to the plants with, wondering if they should maybe try to transplant the plants to the convent, instead of hoping they'd continue to grow wild and without aid.

Hopping down from the tractor, Daryl moved to join her.

"Maybe we should transplant those perennials," she said as he kicked the locked garden door open. "We can better care for them back at the convent. Or, maybe it's too late and they're too big? I'd rather them live then kill them in the attempt."

"They should be fine," he said, grabbing a shovel as she grabbed a watering can. "If we're careful when we dig the roots up."

"We'll need some buckets or boxes to bring them back in," she said.

"I wouldn't try," Milton said, joining them at the doorway of the shed. "They look like they'd be so root bound in that planter that it'll be a mess just getting them out without killing half of them."

"Hey, look, Milton's using that beautiful mind of his," St. James said from somewhere outside the shed.

"He's just happy because he doesn't have to do anything," Milton said softly, stepping outside to give Carol an open passage as she moved by with the watering can.

"Maybe next spring," Carol said as the men followed her like a legion of puppies, "we can get set up on a farm, growing more crops of food for the convent on a bigger parcel of land. I mean, the walkers are almost gone and we're close enough to the convent grounds if we need to make a run for back up."

"This plantation house is big enough," Milton said. "It could easily house a good half of us from the convent."

"But we like the walls, Milton, the walls are our friend," St. James argued.

"Landmines," Milton murmured. "They worked for Delgado's people."

"No," Daryl said. "We've been on a farm, it didn't end well."

"I honestly don't know how Delgado made it through the worst with his farm, those cattle and horses must be like a neon diner sign to the walkers," Carol added.

"Landmines," Milton explained.

"For a whole herd? Come on," St. James said.

"I can't imagine being without the walls of the convent anymore," Carol said softly. "Maybe we're getting spoiled."

"Talk like that," St. James said. "Makes me think you're hanging a whammy on our good fortune."

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**************DarylDixon'sLover - Um...okay. ^_^**

**************Yazzy x - Oh, you know things in Atlanta aren't going to end well.**

**************Merle's Right Hand - Oh, babes. I'm really so sorry about that. God, I feel wretched. I love you, babes. Always know this.**

**************Surplus Imagination - Yeah, Carl is...he's his dad all over and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not.**

**************Queenola-Witty - If I were in a ZA situation, I'd take road trips with Marines just because I'm so useless, I need someone to compensate for that. Just saying, Carl made a good decision.**

**************Fairies Masquerade - It is hard to trust people in the ZA, isn't it?**

**************itsi3 - :^G  
**


	12. Bacon

**Hey, just a friendly reminder that I love and appreciate each and every one of you. Those who read, those who review, those who do both, those who do neither, those who make pies and then make little pies so that it looks like a mama duck and her ducklings when you set them out to cool.**

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**Chapter Twelve: Bacon  
**

****Daryl****

"What is this place?" Carol asked as they entered a large, open area beyond the old plantation house still hunting down harvestable vegetation.

Kneeling by a wooden plank that had been worn to a nub by the elements and the years, Daryl drew his lips back over his teeth in curiosity. "Slave cemetery."

"How can you tell?" She asked.

He brushed aside some moss from another unmarked grave. "Behind the house like this, close to those outbuildings? It's a slave cemetery." Noticing her disbelief, Daryl said. "What? You thought all those dilapidated buildings we passed were really old chicken coops lined up in a row? There's a reason those trees were allowed to grow up around them, hiding them out of sight."

"Why wouldn't you tear something like that down?" She asked.

Standing up, Daryl brushed moss and dirt off his hand onto the front of his shirt. "Hell, probably didn't even know they were there. Besides, doesn't matter anymore anyways."

"Ah, must-see historical sites of beautiful Georgia," St. James murmured darkly, kneeling to inspect a grave for himself.

"Yeah?" Daryl snapped. "Let's discuss the Black Hawk War of Utah, smart ass."

"Actually," St. James replied, "my family originally came from Arizona."

"Let's discuss Rhode Island," Milton broke in quickly. "Think it's a safer subject for the moment."

Pulling her rifle off her back, Carol nodded. "I agree."

"I don't know, I enjoy the subject of Utah—" Daryl broke off as the sound of crashing in the woods nearby had them all jumping. It sounded like something coming their way and it sounded heavy.

Immediately everyone drew their guns, aiming them in the direction of the woods.

Daryl moved off towards it, crouching and stalking quietly, while Carol and the others took a covering position behind him, following. He motioned for them to stop at the edge of the woods and entered alone, moving like a ghost through the woods.

The sound of cracking and snapping grew louder as he drew closer to the source and Daryl raised his crossbow, expecting to part the underbrush and find a walker or something human on the other side, snapping or stalking them.

Instead, beyond a wild hazelnut bush, he found a large sow rooting for food in the dirt with her large snout.

From the black spots on her back he made her out to be a domestic sow from somewhere and by the teets under her that were heavy with milk, he figured she had a brood somewhere.

He knew Delgado's people had two or three pigs in a back pen of their barn, they had more before the fire, but many of them had died. He knew, though, that the ones they had were all pink.

And Daryl wasn't sure how this one survived or where it came from, but he wasn't going to waste an opportunity for some more possible food for the convent.

If they could somehow sneak a couple of those piglets, sows especially, they could breed their own for future use.

Wondering if the sow was wild before shit went down or if circumstances made her so, he pondered whether or not to try to approach her. Maybe he could be greedy and try to nab mom and piglets. Or, if there were piglets, there must a boar…figuring he'd have to return at some point to track them, but not wanting to put it off, he pulled back slowly from the scene and moved towards the cemetery.

When he joined the others, he waited for a moment, before speaking. "You see anything to transport pigs around the farmyard?"

Everyone looked amongst themselves.

"Why?" Carol asked.

"Think God crapped us out a miracle."

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"Even if we could drag a bunch of pigs back to the convent it wouldn't end well," St. James argued as Daryl gathered some rope from the plantation. "I mean, we have a hell of a time as it is keeping the chickens and cow out of the garden, could you imagine pigs? They call people who eat a lot pigs for a reason, you know?"

Carol, who had been sitting on an old drag-behind rake, stood up and approached him, her eyes full of ideas. "Why don't we settle some our people here?" She suggested. "It'd be easier getting those pigs into the barn, we'd have more rooms and space for people to sleep comfortably. It's half an hour walk through the woods, ten minutes driving on the road to get back to the convent. We'd have people here to tend to the perennial garden and space for the animals."

Daryl paused, listening to her, the only voice of reason he'd really listen to.

"I mean, there's hardly any walkers left, we could make it work, couldn't we? We'd need a bigger piece of land anyways next year, if we need to feed more mouths."

"We might be able to put up a greenhouse too," Milton added. "That way we can cultivate our own seeds, the ones we salvaged from the DIY store won't last forever, think the lifespan of seeds is about three or four years."

"You have to admit that for now, if you catch those pigs, this is the best place for them," Carol finished.

Tossing a rope at St. James, Daryl murmured, "well, either way, let's rope 'em and ride 'em, Arizona."

"I went to medical school," St. James protested. "I don't know how to rope and ride."

"You were born in Arizona, weren't you?" Daryl demanded, slapping the doctor hard on the back. "Saddle up, smart ass."

"Pull up some of that Air Force courage," Carol suggested, giving him a warm, encouraging squeeze of the forearm.

St. James looked doubtful, but nodded. "Well, I can certainly try."

"Milton," Daryl held out a coil of rope to the bespectacled man, "you ready to jump in?"

"Uh, I was always a spectator of life, you know? I observe better than I do."

"Well, today you're doing," Daryl stated firmly, shoving the rope hard against the man's chest.

"What about me?" Carol asked.

"You're getting up on that tractor and out of the way," Daryl said.

She smirked. "They're pigs, Daryl, not rampaging bulls."

"You've never seen a full sized boar," he returned.

"Can I at least get the barn door for you?" She inquired. "Or would I trip and fall on the way there and hurt myself too badly?"

"I don't know, you do have those big assed feet," Daryl shot back.

Tsking at him, she made off for the barn, while Daryl and the men headed into the forest, after the pigs.

Daryl directed the men towards the area where he saw the sow, motioning for them to keep their heads down. While St. James moved a little quieter than normal, Milton was tripping up on branches and twigs and anything else that got in his way.

He stopped long enough to give the dorky klutz a hard, warning glare, which earned him a sheepish shrug.

Carefully moving the hazelnut bush, Daryl found the area beyond empty, but he knew she wouldn't have gone far. Slowly he moved out from his hiding place among the hazelnut bush, not even caring that the twig he moved for himself caught St. James right in the face. He was on a hunt and it could be the difference between starvation and eating like kings.

Picking up her hoof prints in the dirt of the forest floor, he followed the disturbed leaves, moving at a snail's pace after the sow.

He caught sight of her at the edge of some stagnant water, drinking her fill, ears twitching to keep the flies off. She wasn't much to look at, but to a man desperate to find food for his people, she was as beautiful as an angel.

Giving the other two a signal to stop, he waited for her to have her drink, hoping to follow her back to wherever she had her piglets.

As he watched her, he mused on the fact that nature was a damned thing. Here he was salivating over the idea of snacking on her or her young in the future and he was covering his own ass from being chomped on by a new species that preyed on humans.

Well, they weren't really a new species, but they were like a different animal. The dead didn't think, they acted out of pure…instinct? Hunger? He didn't know how their damned minds worked, all he knew was that they were a threat, somehow that made them the top of the food chain.

God, he could go for some bacon.

As the sow pulled away from the water's edge, after wading in a bit and rooting for water plants, she headed off again, this time with Daryl and the others keeping a mindful distance, but on her immediate trail.

They must have gone about five minutes through the woods, moving painfully slow, before they came on the sow's ass sticking out of a pile of dead and fallen trees. It was clear by the way the dirt was dug out a little under the heavy trunk, that was where she had her young.

He looked about first for a sign of the boar, carefully, he began to creep in, getting his rope ready.

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****Carol****

She was wandering around the old house, waiting for the men to return with the pigs, keeping one ear tuned for them and another for trouble, when she came across and old steam trunk filled with priceless antiques. Letters from the Civil War, a bayonet, handfuls of costume jewellery and underneath it all another thick, beautiful quilt like the one she had laid on in the room with Daryl.

Settling by a window overlooking the yard, she curled up in a soft chair and opened one of the letters idly for something to do.

_My dearest mother,_ it read in shaky scrawling loops and scratches.

_My dearest mother,_

_ There is no way to prepare you for the news I am about to share, but the fact is that for an entire night I lay cold and bleeding on the field outside of Chattanooga and now I believe I am dying._

_ Sergeant Halloran has come and sat by my bed to ensure I was comfortable, but everywhere around me there are men broken and wasted. They are youth, no older than myself, lying cold in piles of rags that constitute a bed. My chest hurts, so very badly and the blood has finally slowed its flow, but I know that I will soon find the peace that Reverend Milner preaches about._

_I don't know why I'm writing to you with such stark frankness, but my dearest mother you are and always have been the one woman in my life who gave me light on the darkest of days and I feel that you need to hear it from my own hand how I tried very hard, how I fought very bravely alongside many men with the same desire to keep our traditions, our ways so very honoured._

_Maybe dying is preferable to the cold and suddenly cruel world we are facing here. I cannot tell you how lonesome I am, how I miss the warmth of our hearth._

_ Know that I will see you again in heaven, mother, that I will be waiting._

_ Sergeant Halloran has said that they will bury me in the yard yonder, where a gnarled old walnut tree grows. If you wish to mourn over me, mother, that is where he says I'll be._

_Your ever loving son, James_

Touching a hand to her chest, Carol curled up further on the chair and set the letter aside, feeling ashamed for having read it. As she sat in stunned silence by the macabre poetry of the letter, she heard the crunching of tires on gravel and poked her head around the curtains of the window enough to spy a khaki coloured jeep pulling up close to the house and four men in military garb pile out.

She immediately picked up her rifle, but remained still at the window, watching as a tall, dark haired man looked about, another kneeling by the freshly watered planter, touching the mud.

The soldier said something to the tall man who appeared to be in charge, he nodded, then motioned two men around the west side of the house and the third around the east, taking the front himself and climbing onto the porch.

Carol didn't know who they were, but experience told her to hide.

Carefully, she moved to the door and peeking down the hall, scurried across into the bedroom she and Daryl had made use of earlier, knowing there was fireplace that was big enough to fit her and had an overhanging side lip that she could tuck her legs behind. She had admired it as they were dressing, musing on how beautiful it was, but how it didn't even look like it had been used in the last century.

Quickly, she climbed inside the dark brick fireplace, pressing against the wall, hiding behind the lip.

She prayed the men stayed gone, at least until these ones got what they were looking for and left.

After what felt like hours of waiting, she heard boots quietly padding over the thick white carpeting of the hall and into the room.

Carol raised her rifle the best she could in the tight space, prepared to shoot if she had to.

The boots moved about the room quietly, but she couldn't really tell where they were as being in the fireplace made it hard for her to clearly hear and locate the soldier.

Finally, they padded out and away.

She stayed in the fireplace for the longest time, only emerging when she heard angry squealing coming from the farmyard.

And not squealing as in tires on asphalt, but as in angry pig.

Ducking out of her hiding place, she checked her surroundings quickly, before bolting, heading outside to warn Daryl and the others.

She wasn't expecting a pair of iron strong arms to grip her tight around her torso as she flew down the stairs, but as she stepped on the last step, they did and her rifle was wrested away from her.

Carol pulled her knife, but the soldier who had caught her, tossed her rifle away and held up his hands, his own was strapped to his back.

"Whoa, hang on!" He said. "We aren't looking for a fight!"

She kept her knife up, backing against a wall to prevent anyone from creeping up behind her.

The tall, dark haired man smiled warmly at her. "My name is Sergeant Rhoades, I'm with the US Marine Corps," he explained. "We're looking for a Marine here in Georgia. Think he might be from around these parts, tracked him pretty good, I thought."

Carol remained silent, hoping to God Daryl and the others didn't start anything outside.

"Lafayette Vancoughnett? Do you know him?"

Her brow furrowed before she could control it and she knew he saw it, so she had to lie creatively. She didn't know if this man was good or bad news, but she didn't care. She had enough of outsiders to last her a century and being that she had militants from Tennessee on her mind, she didn't trust anyone in a uniform outside of the Lieutenant, Delgado or Kowalski. "What does it matter to you?" She asked in her best Daryl imitation. It was the only way she could be convincingly mean, at least in her mind.

"We're old friends," the man explained.

Carol shifted on her feet, knife still held between them in the defensive way Daryl showed her. "He left our group three months ago," she said. "And we haven't see or heard from him since." Something in her heart told her the lie was a good one, that she did right, because the man seemed to look more annoyed than worried at the news.

"Okay, that's all we wanted to know." He said, adding after a thoughtful moment. "Your people somewhere around here?"

She remained silent.

"Sorry," he said. "Look, we're leaving, okay? No shots fired and everyone walks, fair enough?"

She motioned with a sharp flick of her head to the door, giving him permission to just go.

He moved to the door, not turning his back on her and stepped out it.

By the time Carol retrieved her rifle and moved to the door, the men were gone, Milton and St. James were left standing in the dust, St. James trying to control a pissed off mother pig and Milton struggling with two tiny piglets.

"What, ah, what's up?" St. James asked as the sow stubbornly jerked him in one direction, before he dug his heels in to stop her.

"I don't know," she said. "But we have to get back to the convent now. Where's Daryl?"

"He's bringing more piglets," Milton said.

Carol nodded. "Let's get the sow in the pen."

"Who were those men?" St. James demanded.

"I don't know, but I don't think they're good for the neighbourhood," she explained. "They're looking for the Lieutenant."

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**************itsi3 - You're the sweetest person ever, I'm going to make sure Merle's Right Hand sees that review. You see this MRH, go read their review, it was lovely and for you!**

**************DarylDixon'sLover - Thanks!**

**************DandelionFunky - You guessed it right. Poor kid. Also, I'm glad you spotted that split top butter roll tit thing. I was kind of proud of it.**

**************Brazen Hussy - Merle is gonna, I swear! Or maybe she'll give it to him, Merle needs to be startled for once.**

**************Yazzy x - You never know with Carl. He sometimes bounces from awesome to little shit.**

**************HGRHfan35 - You know it's about to get bad. This is - after all - the last story. People must meet their ends. Right?**

**************Merle's Right Hand - He is, isn't he? I think he'd make a damned fine papa Dixon.**

**************featherpluckns - I'm glad you mentioned how he acts differently around Carol, I was hoping people would get that their relationship is much more sacred and private. I think some people dislike the fact that I don't have him openly declaring his love and adoration for her in public.**

**************vickih - I have to admit, I enjoyed writing the reverence of the baby bump. Only Daryl could fully appreciate the natural wonder of pregnancy.**

**************Surplus Imagination - That's kind of a neat idea, taking the quilt, I'm using it...at some point. Hopefully. If that's okay with you.**


	13. MRE

**Chapter Thirteen: MRE  
**

****Carl****

"Gwen, can I have a word?"

They had been loading up the meagre belongings that seemed to accompany the small group Carl had met, when Ryan finally managed to pull the pretty woman aside, his face stone serious.

"Sure," she said, putting down the bag she was trying to stuff into the backseat of the heavy old diesel suburban and following him away from Carl.

"Okay," Ryan began softly. Carl wondered if he should tell them that he could still hear their voices, carrying on the wind.

"Let me draw you a picture." Ryan went on urgently.

"Sure." Gwen said.

"Alright, so we drive to Atlanta with this kid."

"Yes."

"And his people come looking for him."

"Okay."

"And they find us with him."

"Yeah."

"And they think we kidnapped him."

"Uh."

"And they shoot us in our faces!" Ryan finished with a hiss.

"Ryan," the woman protested gently, "don't be so melodramatic. Have a little humanity. This boy and his people will starve, we should try to help."

"Gwen, my lack of humanity is what got us through Tennessee, remember?"

"Of course, you know I respect your decisions, but…come on? This boy could be Charlie, your brother could be the one about to starve and you'd let it happen?"

Ryan ran a hand over his face. "Gwen, you know I…you know I care about you and your daughters, hell we've been on the road together since December and we've been through some shit, but don't do this. Please? For once listen to me. Atlanta is dangerous, big cities are dangerous. Look, I will do anything to find that boy food for his people, but I will not go into Atlanta and I ask you not to do it."

"I'm not stupid or reckless, Ryan," she protested. "I know it's going to be rough, but you said it yourself, they're thinning, we haven't seen one in a month."

"No," he agreed. "But they'll be there, confused and stumbling about, the latecomers to the game. Hell, there might even be signs of life there and you know what humans are capable of."

"I know, but it's a goldmine of food and ammunition, guns, supplies, just waiting. Guarded by the dead, waiting there for us to come along and loot it. We need the supplies too, Ryan. If your brother doesn't come back, who's to say that his people will take us in? We need to prepare for winter ourselves."

Carl took in the way the woman smiled hopefully at the man and how Ryan seemed ready to cave at any moment.

"They fight, but I hear the make-up sex is fantastic," Simone murmured from Carl's side.

He frowned and went back to packing.

"Simone, don't be a pathological liar," Phoebe growled from where she sat on top of the old suburban, nose still in her book.

"It's not lying!" Simone declared angrily. "They're totally doing it at night when you fall asleep, you don't hear it because you snore like a chainsaw."

"Mom's way old to have sex with Ryan," Phoebe argued, dropping her book long enough to pin her sister with a sharp glare. "He's closer to our age than hers."

Furrowing his brow, Carl realized that what he thought was the younger sister was actually the older sister, simply by the way Phoebe sharply glared at Simone and the girl fell silent instantly. There was a power there in Phoebe's gaze that read older sister.

Maybe he thought she was younger because she was shorter than Simone, had more of a baby face.

He didn't care for either one, so he moved off, heading towards Ryan and Gwen.

"Are we doing this then?" He demanded.

Ryan, still glaring mildly at Gwen, quirked a brow at her, before turning to face Carl, his face was calmer, more at peace with the situation as he said, "okay, but since these are my people, we lead this mission fifty-fifty. If we get there and scope the situation and I say we back out, we can go without hard feelings, deal?" He held his hand out to Carl.

It was much more than anyone at the convent had ever offered him and Carl eyed the hand with stoic shock, before taking it. "Deal," he said.

After a quiet moment of contemplation, Ryan turned to the girls lounging by the SUV and shouted, "alright, pack it up! Phoebe get off that roof, you'll break your goddamned neck! Carl, grab shotgun, I'm sure Gwen won't mind."

Gwen smiled at Carl, that bright dazzling smile that kind of reminded him of his mother's. "Of course not."

It was a small gesture, but enough to give Carl a small amount of pleasure. He hadn't felt that kind of trust and responsibility since before things with the Governor.

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****Daryl****

He was waist deep under the fallen trees, trying to get to the last four piglets who were cowering at the back of the pig's den, when he heard footsteps approaching rapidly.

"Daryl?!"

He pulled out of the nest at Carol's urgent voice, calling for him and stood up. "Here!"

There was crashing and desperate running through the woods, before she emerged, breathless and frightened looking.

"What is it?" He demanded, rising immediately with his crossbow in hand.

"There was…men…military men, they…they came looking for the Lieutenant. I think…he's in trouble isn't he?"

He barely heard the last bit, but was taking her by the arm and leading her away from the trees, towards the farmyard. Bursting through the trees on the edge of the farmyard, he pointed to Milton and St. James who were just emerging from the barn.

"You two get the rest of the piglets!" He ordered, turning to Carol. "I have to go."

She whipped her head around trying to keep track of him as he moved furiously for the trees, towards the convent. "Stay safe!" She called after him.

Daryl stopped his racing long enough to turn around and face her. "As soon as they get the piglets, you get back to the convent and stay there."

She nodded.

Knowing he couldn't waste time, but not wanting to go without it, he hurried back, sweeping her into his arms and kissing her breathless.

When he pulled away he flushed a little.

She smiled. "Go."

He took off again, heading for the convent through the woods. He'd have to get his bike and find the Lieutenant, warn him about the Tennessee group closing in.

Fuck, he didn't think they'd care enough to bother. They had enough men.

Christ, and the convent crew was skeletal, everyone was out looking for food.

He had never run so fast or so carelessly as he was now, not even paying attention whether there was a threat about as he tore through the woods, slogging through Skunk Cabbage Creek, jumping over fallen trees and bushes.

Slamming hard into the wall, he leapt at it and scrambled over, tearing across the yard towards Mary Agnes who was left in charge and was currently watering the garden with a handful of others.

"Get your guns on you," he ordered those in the garden. "Warn the others, we might have company."

Mary Agnes dropped her watering can and approached. "Who?"

"Trust me, they might smile, but they're snakes! I have to go to McCaysville after the Lieutenant. Carol and the others will be back tonight, Rick and Michonne and their groups too. I'll stop by Glenn at the river's edge and send him back, but I gotta go."

"Oh Lord," Mary Agnes breathed, turning to the others in the garden. "You heard him! Get your guns! And get the children gathered in the church! Don't let them outside!"

Daryl was already off, heading for his bike. After the incident with Carol on the highway he had left it behind, but Glenn had gone and retrieved it for Merle who bitched to Daryl about leaving it on its side. It was fixed up and put right, but Merle still bitched about it.

Climbing on, he kicked it and took off, barely slowing for Mrs. Douglas who was working the gate.

Fuck it was bad, he honestly didn't know why those assholes were still after the Lieutenant. It couldn't have been that old fucking shed they torched, they scoped it and it held nothing. It had to just be a pride thing. Colonel Barrie wouldn't let it slip that a Marine didn't want to join up with her group. It had to be that.

Driving across the highway down the road that lead to the prison, he carefully drove his bike around the fence, heading behind the prison to where the others went to fish.

He arrived in time for Glenn, who was just about to launch his boat. Seems it was Cash and his woman he was stuck with today.

"What's up?" Glenn asked, immediately sensing something had gone wrong.

"The convent might come under fire tonight, you'd better head back." He warned.

"From who?" Cash demanded.

"Tennessee assholes," Daryl explained.

"People you know?" Cash shot back.

"Not the fucking time right now, dipshit!" Daryl snapped. "I will throw you in that fucking river and hold you under with an oar!"

"Jesus," Cash muttered.

"We'll head back right now," Glenn assured Daryl, thankfully diffusing the situation.

"Glenn," Daryl said a little less aggressively.

"Yeah?"

"You mind yourself with these assholes," he warned. "I mean it. They're dangerous."

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****The Lieutenant****

They had found a nice cache of canned goods and only one walker who was half stupid with rot, so taking the distributors wasn't hard.

The trip was the hardest part, sticking to back roads to avoid running into people got them lost a few times, but they had made it to McCaysville with no run ins with anyone.

They had loaded one truck entirely with flats of canned goods, anything and everything they could grab. There was everything from canned peaches to sardines to baked beans and white hominy.

He didn't know what white hominy was exactly, but they took it anyways.

They would probably need another truck, which wasn't bad news to him, the more food the better, but he was hoping to get things done before nightfall, get home where it was safer, maybe cuddle his woman and relax for a night before getting back to food hunting.

Settling down another heavy bundle of cans onto the back of the truck where Sister Joan was arranging them, he flopped his ass on the tailgate and took a quick headcount of his people. Grace was taking a sip of water from a bottle nearby and caught him eyeing her, dropping it from her lips to tilt her head like a curious bird. Andrea was helping Sasha haul out another bundle, fixing the heavy backdoor cinderblock prop as Sasha struggled out under the weight of the cans.

Moving to take them from her like the gentleman his Mamere raised, he smiled as Sasha huffed.

"You know, you can break the bundles open and take less, honeychild," he drawled with a grin.

She touched a hand to her tightly curled, dark hair and smiled. "But that would take longer."

"But you'd probably not get a hernia that way." Andrea added slyly.

"I say we make the Lieutenant do all the lifting," Sasha said, hopping onto the tailgate after the bundle, sliding it back for Sister Joan.

"No shirking," he ordered with a twinkle in his eye. "But let's all take a break, yeah? You ladies earned it."

"Ooh, I love it when you get all CO on us, Lieutenant," Andrea teased, hopping onto the tailgate beside Sasha.

Moving towards Grace as she offered him the water bottle, he smirked. "_Cher_, you haven't seen my commanding side yet."

"And who put you in charge, anyways?" Andrea demanded, folding her arms.

"Rick," he returned.

"And who put Rick in charge?" She went on questioning.

Taking a sip of water, the Lieutenant tilted his head and handed the bottle back to Grace. "I really don't think the time for revolutionary discussions is now, do you?"

"We should have a revolution," Sasha added.

"Now why would you want that?" Sister Joan demanded. "We already have enough problems as it is, an uprising is the last thing we need."

The Lieutenant pointed in agreement to the woman.

"Because I don't think Rick really cares about us. All of us," Sasha said.

"We're going to have one hell of a winter if all you worry about is Rick not giving you hugs and attention," Grace broke in sternly. "We might starve and you're both worried about leadership? I can solve your problems easily, it's my convent, I'm the leader, you don't like that then you can walk. Spare us the mouths to feed."

As Sasha and Andrea looked at each in mild shock, the Lieutenant exchanged well hidden amused looks with Sister Joan. He had heard that pregnancy caused mood swings, so he figured it was either that or the fact that starvation was hanging heavy on his girl.

Still, she was suddenly that stern, no-nonsense nun he had first met and it turned him on more than he could ever say.

After a few awkward moments of silence, Sasha and Andrea both slid off the tailgate and headed back into the distributors, the Lieutenant leaned in to help his girl off the back of the truck, whispering, "you have no idea how much you turn me on when you take command like that."

"Get back to work," she ordered with a slight smile tickling the corners of her lips.

He eyed her for a moment, considering places he could take her for a little bump and grind, but figured a kiss would have to do.

"Sister Joan?" He said, not breaking eye contact with Grace. "Is that a deer coming up on your six?"

The woman turned, not really registering what he was saying, just ready to take one out for food to bring back to the convent.

Gripping Grace around her waist, he swept her against him and gave her the most sinfully searing kiss he could in the time afforded by Joan's distraction. Pulling away whispering, "when we get back is there any way you'd put the habit on again for me?"

"Don't be a dirty dog," she hissed, pushing him ahead of her into the distributors.

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****Carol****

By the time they nabbed the last four piglets, secured them in the barn with their mother and returned to the convent with plenty of water and freshly plucked grass to sustain them, she could see they had upped their security.

Five walking the wall, heavily armed, two on the gate, Glenn included.

"What's new?" He asked her as they drove through in the old pick-up.

She pulled it to a stop to chat with him at the gate, before pulling through. "I should be asking you. Anyone show up?"

He shook his head. "Thankfully no, I'm just hoping Merle and the others get back soon."

"Okay, well, we found some pigs over at the nearby farm, so we corralled them in for the night. If these men don't show we'll have to head over to feed them."

Glenn frowned. "Maybe we should bring them in for the night? In case those men find them."

Carol nodded. "I thought about that, but what do we haul them in?"

"What about that moving truck Daryl and the Lieutenant brought with them? Rick said he parked it down the road some, made it look like it hit the ditch." Glenn pointed out.

She pondered the sky, it was soon going to be dark already. "Where will we put them?"

"Maybe keep them in the truck for the night?" Glenn suggested.

"Okay, I'll head back for them now, then." Just as she glanced in her rear view mirror to back the truck up, she spied a cloud rising from the dry cattle trail, the sign of a vehicle approaching. "Glenn?" She motioned to the cloud.

He looked up at Father O'Rourke who was on scope on the wall nearby.

"It doesn't look like one of ours," he said.

"One of us inside?"

"Can't tell."

Glenn looked at Carol. "You'd better pull it in. Let everyone know we have guests."

She nodded and drove their truck inside so that they could close the gate and lock it with the heavy chain they had been using.

By the time she parked it and scurried around letting everyone know about what was happening at the gate, she returned to the gate with her rifle, only to find a blond man standing at the gate, backed by six or seven soldiers. It wasn't the man who she met up with at the plantation, but another.

"My name's Captain Kochanski, USAF," he greeted Glenn politely. "Who's in charge here?"

"I am," Glenn said. "What can we do for you?"

"I'm looking for a Marine," he said. "Might be accompanied by a scruffy backwoods type?"

"I've been looking for a Marine all my life," Mrs. Douglas broke in. "If you see one, send him my way when you're done with him."

Kochanski smiled a charming, dimpled grin. "That's cute, I like that. No, ma'am, this Marine is wanted by the US Army for destruction of army property."

"Ooh, a bad boy, even better," Mrs. Douglas said.

"We have a reward for him, alive," Kochanski went on. "Two military trucks, run on diesel, one thousand pounds of MRE's and twenty eight cases of guns and ammunition in return for him."

"What about the scruffy backwoods type?" Glenn asked.

"Kill him, he's a danger to everyone you love."

It was then, as the blond man looked right at her, that Carol realized he wasn't with the tall, dark haired man who she met with at the plantation. Or maybe he was, but they hadn't communicated since the run-in.

Still, she kept quiet.

"We'll be holing up around here, if you find him leave a message on a wall in the nearby town, we'll drop in for him with your payment." He took a step back from the gate, before adding. "I'd appreciate it if you don't shoot us in the ass on our way back out."

As everyone watched the vehicle back up down the narrow trail, Karen dropped down from the wall to stand beside Carol.

"What are MRE's?" She asked.

"Military rations," she replied, still eyeing the vehicle.

"One thousand pounds of food…"

"We're not turning the Lieutenant over to those men," Carol stated.

"Of course not," Karen protested. "But that's a lot of food, isn't it?"

"We don't do that to our own," Glenn stated firmly.

As Karen returned to the wall, Glenn turned to Carol sombrely. "He'll probably turn himself in when he finds out how much food it'll get us."

Carol scowled. "They won't give us anything. It's a lie."

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**************vickih - Especially the part about bacon, right? Right?**

**************DarylDixon'sLover - Indeed.**

**************Yazzy x - This whole story isn't going to end nicely. I can tell you that right now.**

**************Merle's Right Hand - Uh, cha, she is. Bad ass Carol is my favourite. Bad ass and pregnant just makes me happier.**

**************Surplus Imagination - I swear, I'm working the quilts in, just not now. For future use. ^_^**

**************melniewn - You know, to be honest, it's reviews like yours that make me want to continue the series forever. So thanks for that! You made my crappy week better! ^_^**

**************Brazen Hussy - I'm just a big ol' tease, aren't I?**

**************HGRHfan35 - Mmmm peace is always nice, but war is always interesting.**

**************Queenola-Witty - I'm glad you appreciate how often I update now that I'm back for good. It's a very hard pace to keep, but I do it because as a fanfic reader myself, I hate waiting. I understand this pain.**


	14. Goose

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**Chapter Fourteen: Goose  
**

****Carol****

They waited nervously until Merle returned, three large fat geese in hand, before Carol decided it was too dangerous to go back for the pigs that night, not when he said he heard voices in the woods, sounded like men-in-charge types, as he put it. Turns out when he crept close enough to the farm where they were, his suspicions were right.

He had slumped beside Carol on the grass before the bonfire to clean the geese, saying nothing for the longest time while she boiled the water to scald the feathers off the birds in order to pluck them better.

"Next khaki asshole I see is getting a blade through the roof of their mouth," he said gruffly.

She glanced over at him as she worked on building the fire.

His quick glance at her was too studious, too analyzing.

Carol hid her smirk with a bow of her head. He was worried about her, in his own Dixon way and amongst the tension of the day, it pleased her to realize that she was beginning to read Dixon. Maybe it was the Dixon baby she carried which gave a small boost to her Dixon reading abilities.

Or maybe she was getting used to the many faces of Merle.

"You know," he said after a moment. "If I were Daryl, I wouldn't have just let you on your own like he did. Cajun asshole or no."

"Merle, Daryl knows I can take care of myself," she said. "It's what draws me to him, the fact that he allows me my independence."

"Yeah? Sticking his fluid in you and leaving you with a young'un is giving you loads of independence," Merle snapped.

Carol laughed. "It's not like we were expecting a baby, Merle! Besides, I wouldn't want it any other way."

"Yeah, like you're so young that you don't know what comes from sexual relations with a young pup like my baby bro," Merle muttered. "Shooting his DNA inside you…"

For the first time since she met Merle, Carol looked upon him with genuine affection and to her amazement, his blue eyes returned it, but only for a fraction of a moment, then they dropped back to his work.

"You gonna let the damned thing call me 'uncle' or what?" He asked, playing his natural curiosity and – at least to Carol – hope off as annoyance.

"Of course," she said. "I think the baby'll have a damned fine uncle in you."

Merle shrugged. "I won't give it a beat down or anything."

"I know you wouldn't."

They went on working in silence for a moment, before Carol said, "so, what'd you say to Carl? Michonne said him leaving was because of you."

"I just told him if he wanted to be a man, then start acting like one, do what he wants ain't nobody gonna hold his hand."

"But he left, Merle."

Merle shrugged. "He's got the know-how."

"I don't know," Carol confessed softly. "I don't think he's right anymore, inside."

"Hell, are any of us, this world's even beginning to bring down that Cajun and he was the last man I thought who'd let it get to him."

Carol carefully dropped a goose into the scalding hot water and drew it up again just as fast, lying it on the clean grass to begin plucking the feathers off. "I feel sorry for anyone who he comes across," she said. "Because I don't think I'd trust him." She said this under her breath, knowing only Merle could hear her. It wasn't like she was thinking badly of Carl, but…he was off and nothing anyone could do could bring him back to what he once was.

Merle shrugged. "He won't come across anyone but the dead and those soldiers out there and I won't lose sleep if that boy puts any of them down."

They kept working in silence, before Carol said suddenly. "Do you love me?"

The man looked up at her, almost scared and horribly confused. "What?"

"I mean, am I family to you?" She asked, almost shyly.

"Well, shit yeah," he said, ducking his head back to his work. "Christ, woman, you gotta word things better."

Carol smiled and confessed. "You don't know how much that means to me."

"Well hell," he said, "let me go change into a pair of panties and we can sit down and sob together over it, huh?"

She plucked for a moment, scattering the feathers into a bag nearby for burning later. "You know, I was an only child," she said. "My mother was pretty sick when I was growing up and my daddy worked real hard, so he was never there. I think I related to the Lieutenant. That search he had for blood or something close, I don't think people with siblings truly understand how enviable that is to people with no one. I mean, even when they fight, there's always going to be love as a bottom line."

Merle was quiet and she wasn't sure if he heard her.

"I'm glad," he said after a moment, "that my baby brother has you and that Cajun in his life. I've never seen him happier."

Carol glanced up at him, still plucking away.

He cleared his throat almost nervously. "You tell anyone I said that and I'll—"

"Merle," she broke in, "it's okay to love your brother."

"No it's not," he growled. "I have no right. No right to be his brother. I joined up and left him with our daddy, because I was a coward and I left him at the mercy of our daddy. Daryl…he was only a little cockerel at the time, not very big, not prepared to go one on one with that man and I left him and that son-of-a-bitch broke him. Broke him up real bad."

Carol knew the scars well, just like she knew about every freckle and contour of Daryl's body and it hurt her to hear Merle confessing, because it reminded her that it wasn't an act of God that gave Daryl those scars, but his own father.

"Why don't you have scars like Daryl's?" She asked gently.

Merle sniffed, still cleaning a goose with his blade. "Because I was old enough to hit back and daddy liked to pick on those weaker than him. Made him feel like a big man, Daryl was just a baby, easy picking."

"But if you would have stayed," she began.

"I would have killed our daddy and gone to jail for it and Daryl would have had no one. Suppose I could have taken him and run, but…I was a fuck head anyways, still am, I suppose."

"I don't think you're a fuck head, Merle." Carol said. "I think you're a good man. You care for people, more than you'd ever let on. Even the Lieutenant, though you might say you don't. I think deep down you feel like he's blood too, because Daryl loves him so much. And on top of everything, you're a pretty good big brother to me."

"Yeah, well, I haven't snicker-snagged on you yet," he said with a broad grin.

"I don't know what that is, but you'd better not," she replied.

"Come over here and I'll show you," he shot back.

"No," she objected. "Why? What is it?"

"Come here."

"No!" She laughed. "I don't want to find out the hard way."

"Already learning not to trust the devil in me, you really are a Dixon now," he mused.

She smiled, turning back to the goose.

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Rick and Michonne also had tales of run-ins with military men when they returned later that evening. It seemed they were running thick and wild in Georgia, hell bent on finding the Lieutenant and Daryl, though to her ears it sounded like Daryl wasn't wanted alive like the Lieutenant was and that worried her.

More than once during the evening, as she stood in the kitchen frying up the goose in pieces, someone came up and asked her if she was alright and at first it confused her, before Glenn pointed out that he heard stress on a pregnant woman could induce a miscarriage.

It made her worry more, because just thinking of the pregnancy and the troubles looming, made her think of Lori.

As soon as dinner was served, she ducked out into the evening air of the convent's rose garden to escape the inquiries, only to run face first into Rick who was sitting on a bench with Judith, trying to get the girl to eat.

She seemed more interested in dumping the food out of the spoon onto the ground.

"Sorry," she apologized, feeling like she was interrupting the moment.

He shook his head.

"Try opening your mouth," Carol suggested, moving to sit beside them on the bench.

"What?" He asked.

"When Sophia was a baby she went through the same stage, the only way I could get her to eat was to open my mouth too," she explained.

He gave her a funny look, but tried it.

Judith copied him happily and he slipped the food in.

The baby smacked on the soft steamed daylily buds, stuffing her hand into her mouth to feel the texture of it.

Rick removed the hand with his and returned to feeding her.

"So?" He said. "What do we do about these soldiers?"

"Nothing," she replied. "I don't think they want anything more than Daryl and the Lieutenant. Hopefully they'll not find them, get sick of waiting around and leave. I think if they really wanted to kill us, they had the chance today."

"Well, let's hope, but what if they find Daryl or the Lieutenant?"

"What I'm worried about," Carol said. "Is that the temptation for food might be great for some and they'll turn in our own."

Rick looked at her, eyes searching her face.

"I don't know," she sighed. "I don't think anyone would, but…you never know. People aren't always what they seem upfront."

They fell silent, Carol watching Rick feed his daughter and smiled to herself. It was nice seeing a father and his little girl, gave her all kinds of matronly feelings. She touched a hand to her growing stomach and sighed.

"You think I fucked up?" Rick asked suddenly.

"When?"

He snorted. "If you have to ask, that means I'm doing something wrong."

She smiled.

"Letting Carl go," he said after a moment.

"I don't know. It's not my place to say."

"But if you were me?"

She frowned. The thought that if she were in Rick's place, that would mean Sophia would still be with them, that she would be the one facing a child who turned hard due to the world around her. "I don't know," she said. "You forced him to grow up and then forced him back into a child's position in the group by disarming him. I think…maybe it's for the best? He didn't want to be here and he's equipped to face the world out there. And letting him go, with your permission, maybe will encourage him to return someday."

Rick didn't say anything.

"Do you remember at the quarry, when I woke up and you were pressing my clothes?" He asked suddenly.

She smiled. "I do."

"That was nice of you," he said.

Carol bowed her head.

"Don't ever lose that kindness," Rick went on firmly. "Don't let this world make you hard. Not you. Some things should be kept and kind people are one of them. Sometimes I think Dale was right, we lost our humanity, but not all of it. It's still there in people like you and Beth and Grace and the sisters here. This place is good." He said. "It's been good luck to us. I wish we had found it long ago."

"I'm not good, Rick," she argued gently. "I just…I can't hate. I couldn't even hate Ed, though he remains to be my least favourite person in the entire world, living or dead, I still can't really hate him. His father was a monster and…you learn those bad traits from your parents, from your early experiences." She realized what she said, but all too late and gasped. "I'm sorry," she said to Rick. "I didn't mean—"

"No, it's okay. Carl was the product of my mistakes, I didn't teach him to respect properly. Guns or human lives. He learned from me."

"But you're a good man, Rick," she protested. "Carl just…well if you had to...do what he did with...with Lori, wouldn't you change drastically? Give him time and he'll come back."

"I hope."

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They had decided to have the children sleep in the church for the night, since the stone walls offered much better protection to them in the event of a siege.

Not to say Carol expected one, but better safe than sorry.

She tossed a pile of sleeping bags and pillows onto the floor for Annie and Nadir to sleep on, Nadir staying on the proper side of his mother Layla, who was holding Judith as Adele settled in with Celeste beside Carol.

The kids loved the idea of one big sleepover and while Nadir stayed on the far side of Layla, he still managed to toss a pillow at Annie playfully.

Carol smiled. The two had started out as dead set enemies, but children often got over things so quickly that it seemed only a day before they were nearly inseparable. Nadir, as the oldest, assumed a somewhat protective manner with Annie, but still had imp enough in him to torment her and Annie had learned to give back as good as she got.

"Carol, would you read to us?" Nadir asked in his sweet, polite tone.

"Read what? Who's got a book?"

"Oh," Adele broke in, "I have, uh…St. James brought Celeste back a book last run…it's uh…in my bag here." She dug through her diaper bag one handed, the other holding her daughter. Eventually she produced one with a grin.

Carol looked at the cover and grimaced. "This? Really?"

"Um-hm, Celeste loves it."

"Okay," Carol didn't think the children would enjoy it, but she cracked the cover anyways. "The Stolen Child," she read, propping the book up so that the kids could see the beautiful watercolour pictures that went with it, "by William Butler Yeats."

Annie and Nadir scooted in close to look at the bright and haunting pictures as she read, both intently listening.

"For he comes, the human child, to the waters and the wild, with a faery, hand in hand, for the world's more full of weeping than he can understand," she finished softly.

As the children settled in, Carol flopped onto the blanket fort beside Annie and opened the book again to re-read it, as Annie fell fast asleep, nestled between Carol and Boo, with Clyde sleeping protectively on the other side of Boo, closest to the door of the church.

"Auntie Carol?" Annie asked softly. "I have a theory."

She smiled at the girl. "Do you? What is it?"

"The boy in that story, he died, didn't he?"

"Why do you think that?"

"Because in the book he was walking with an angel towards the light."

Carol chuckled. "He was walking with a fairy, honey, going towards the lights of a fairy party."

Annie scrunched her nose up. "Aren't fairies like angels?"

"No, sweetie."

Annie fell silent, before saying, "Auntie Carol?"

"Hm?"

"Are you making a baby?"

"I'm working on it as we speak," she replied.

"Do you feel like you ate too much?"

"What do you mean?"

"Nadir says babies are made in the belly and that when you're done making it, you're gonna poop it out."

Smothering her laughter into the pillow, Carol struggled not to wake anyone. When she recovered, she said in her sternest mother voice. "Don't ever tell your mommy that, okay? And they don't get pooped out."

"But how do they come out then? Do you puke them up?"

"No. It's…something you should ask your daddy," Carol said with a proud, wicked smirk.

"Auntie Carol?" Annie asked after a lull.

"Hm?"

"I think you're pretty," Annie whispered as though it was a big secret. "Like a fairy."

Carol smiled widely and tapped the tip of Annie's nose playfully. "Thank you. But it's bedtime, close your eyes now."

"Am I pretty?"

"Beautiful."

Annie smiled and snuggled in closer to her. "Is Uncle Daryl pretty?"

"Very."

"And Uncle Merle?"

"Yes."

"And Glenn?"

"Definitely."

"What about Clyde the dog?"

"He's stunningly beautiful, go to sleep," Carol said.

Annie fell silent, draping her arm across Carol's stomach and nuzzling into her shoulder. "The stars are fairies," she murmured sleepily.

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**Brazen Hussy - Apparently stupid people can survive the zombie apocalypse as well. ^_^**

**Merle's Right Hand - You won't love it forever.**

**DarylDixon'sLover - I think I might, for fun!**

**spygrrl99 - You never know. Someone might, they might not...**

**itsi3 - That's because NR is kind of hot when he panic runs...I dunno, he just is.**

**Yazzy x - Yeah, it's hard when the possibility of betrayal is there, huh?**

**Surplus Imagination - Well, I'm assuming since Gwen has children around the same age as Carl, she feels a motherly duty to help him and Ryan is just in out of loyalty to her. Personally, with Carl, I'm more worried for them than for him, he's kind of shifty. As for the fifty/fifty thing, it was only the leadership fifty/fifty, they don't want half the food, only enough to sustain themselves through the winter. As for Merle...well he'll come into play next chapter, I'm sure. ^_^**

**vickih - Ah, Mrs. Douglas. That horny old woman who has the hots for the Lt...yes, she does want a slab of Marine cake, but who wouldn't?**


	15. Cupcake

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**Chapter Fifteen: Cupcake  
**

****The Lieutenant****

They had a hell of a time finding a diesel truck or the fuel for it, but when they did, it took less time to load it full of flats of canned goods. In his estimation the flats made up quite a lot of what they needed to find, not all, but quite a bit.

Leaning his ass against the closed tailgate, he watched his girl as she stretched her arms over her head and leaned back a little, flashing a band of pale, taut stomach and a cute bellybutton. That belly of hers wouldn't be taut much longer, he reckoned. It would be full with their baby soon enough.

He smirked and folded his arms, resisting the urge to reach out and touch that tempting tummy. Glancing around, checking on the possible threats, finding none, then locating his people, he realized that with Joan busy packing up their stuff and Sasha and Andrea busy chatting, he had an opportunity and took it.

Stretching out a long leg, he hooked his foot around Grace's rear and nudged her closer towards him.

As tiny as she was, she stood no chance fighting the strength of his leg and staggered close with a small, delicate frown, smiling only once he wrapped both legs around her and held her trapped in his arms and legs, sitting on the edge of the bumper in order to do so.

"Get off me, you swamp giant," she protested softly.

"You act like you hate me, but I know better," he drawled.

"Do you?" She whispered.

"Of course, you love me," he purred in her ear.

Unable to keep his ass up on the narrow ledge, he released his legs from around her and dropped them, still keeping his girl tucked in tight against him.

In the growing twilight, he could barely make out the slight sunburn that painted the bridge of her nose pink, or the freckles it brought out on her fair skin, but he knew they were there and it brought a grin to his face.

Reaching up between them, she placed her hand on his chest and played with her rosary which still hung there.

"You know, we can ride back together you and I," he said.

"Oh?"

"Spend a little time alone, maybe?"

"Is it always sex with you?" She demanded.

He smiled widely at her. "Girl, I didn't even mention anything remotely sexual," he protested. "That was your mind that conjured it up."

She opened her mouth to argue, but snapped it shut and resorted to pushing at his chest in order to get away from him. "Let me go, you big…wolf."

He held her tighter. "Oh, you can't escape now."

Finding it hard to get out of his arms, she went completely limp and just dangled there in his arms in complete protest, her back arched over his forearm, causing him to laugh hard at her as he supported her entire weight.

"So you're half magpie _and_ half fainting goat," he teased.

"I'm not even going to talk to you anymore," she murmured.

Eyeing the exposed column of her throat, he leaned forward and kissed it. "Come on, be nice to me tonight, _beb_," he whispered. "Where's my southern belle, hm? Come on, _cher_," he said, "give me a little affection."

She remained limp.

"Alright, Scarlett," he teased in his best Clark Gable. "You need to be kissed."

She smiled, hand moving to stroke over his jaw, muscles tightening and working once more. "You know I adore you," she said.

"Of course."

"But if you ever refer to me as Scarlett O'Hara again I may have to fiddle-dee-dee right up your backside," she state.

"God bless your hellfire, _jolie catin_," he purred, releasing her in order to address the other women waiting around. "Alright, ladies, let's head home. Sister Joan, you take that truck there."

Turning back to Grace, he caught sight of a movement at the corner of the building and paused, before turning his eyes to her. "You take the wheel, _beb_, I have to go water a bush."

"Okay," she said, pushing up onto her tiptoes to kiss him.

He smiled down at her, nose to nose.

As she moved around to the driver's side door, he headed for the corner of the building, turning it and finding Daryl standing there.

"Who's dead?" The Lieutenant asked.

"No one, yet," he returned.

Sighing, the Marine leaned back against the wall. "So?"

"They followed us."

"Dangerous _couyons_," he murmured darkly. "Have they…are they here for…did anyone get hurt?"

"No, but they want me dead and you alive."

"Jesus," he sighed, kicking the gravel with his boot. "Alright, let's…I don't want to alarm my girl, so, we'll ah head home like normal and assume they're watching the convent, so I'll say you came to go hunting up here with me and we'll send them back."

"What about us?"

"We'll hide out long enough, they might get bored and bugger off home."

"How long?"

"I don't know, a week or two, maybe."

Daryl sighed, but nodded. "Alright."

"Come on, we'll spin a tale to my girl and get them going off on their own."

Emerging from around the building he approached the driver's side of the truck Grace was in, Daryl close behind him.

Seeing Daryl, his girl touched a hand to the base of her throat. "Oh, Daryl? Is everything alright?"

"Fine, _beb_," the Lieutenant said. "Daryl caught up with us, there's a snack food cupcake place nearby might have some good loot, we're going head over and check it out. You go on without us, yeah?"

Quietly, Grace opened the truck door and hopped out, her journey to the ground was pretty far, standing small beside the monster-like truck. But her diminutive stature wasn't a comfort when she pinned the Marine with a hard look.

"Lying is a sin, you know?" She stated firmly, leaning in to whisper roughly. "What's wrong?"

The Lieutenant glanced at Daryl, who didn't look like he was going to be much help, so he grimaced and turned back to his girl. "Gracie," he began.

"Don't 'Gracie' me, honey," she snapped. "I can see it in your eyes, something's up."

"Okay, my girl," he resigned. "You're not in any danger, I can promise you that. They don't care or want anything to do with civilians."

"Who?"

"A group from Tennessee, they followed us here, Daryl and I."

"And?"

"And we're going to hide out for a while, keep away until those boys get tired of waiting."

"You just came back to us," she protested.

"I know, _beb_, and I don't want to leave again, but—"

"No, I'm not letting you walk away from me again."

"Gracie—"

"No," she insisted. "I'm going with you and Daryl."

"It—"

"No."

"_Cher_—"

"No."

Turning to Daryl, the Lieutenant looked for help from an outside source.

Daryl frowned, but licked his bottom lip and turned to Grace. "Grace—"

"No."

"Annie," the Marine tossed out calmly, folding his arms.

Grace turned wild eyes on him. "What?"

"That girl needs you to get back home to her."

"No!" She snapped, sticking a finger in his face. "You don't get to use her as a method of getting me to cooperate! You go home to that girl, because she can't have you coming and going in her life like this!"

"They will kill Daryl!" He snapped at her. "And they will take me away from you both and then I will never come back."

His fiery Queen straightened her spine and looked him in the eye, finger still in his face. "You've won the battle, but you have not won this war!"

"Believe me, girl, I'm looking forward to the fight," he growled.

"Fine," she spat with only a little less venom. "I love you."

"I love you too." He declared, still sounding a little angry.

They stood there for a moment, still seething a little, before she said meekly, "I'm sorry."

"No, girl," he touched a hand to his forehead. "It's…I keep letting you and Annie down and…I'm beginning to think I'm going to be a terrible daddy."

He didn't miss Daryl shifting in closer to him, ready as always to physically protect him from the hurt he was feeling. From the state of utter frustration and desolation his father had left in him.

It was Grace, though, who stepped forward and took his face in her hands. "No," she said for the final time, "you'll make a wonderful father and don't ever think you let us down. I'm only upset because I don't want to be apart from you anymore."

He beamed sadly at her. "I know that feeling, my girl."

"Okay then," she said. "Now go on, keep yourselves well hidden for a while. Come back to us when it's safe." Turning to Daryl, she reached out and gripped his upper arm gently, giving it a squeeze. "You too, Daryl, take care of yourself."

He dipped his head.

"I'll get you boys some spare ammo and bottled water from the truck," she said, turning and walking away.

As they stood there, the Lieutenant said to Daryl, "did you say goodbye to Carol?"

"Yeah."

"Properly?"

The man shook his head.

"Okay," Fay said, nodding. "Then we'd better get back to them safe, yeah?"

"I wasn't planning on letting those army assholes get a piece of me," Daryl returned.

"We know how they run, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Small groups, spread out."

"Right."

"I say we hunt them down, lay them low one little flock at a time. No communication between groups, no more than five to a group, we could do it. What say you, _cabri_?"

"We could use the back up, but might be dangerous if the catch us."

"Yeah, might also be beneficial if we end them," the Lieutenant said. "We kill enough of them, leave those at home in Tennessee with only minimal protection and you know they got a whole lot of food stashed there."

"Might need more than just us," Daryl.

"Yeah, I know. We'll get the wolf pack together, get my girl to run home and get a message to them."

"What about the she-wolves?" Andrea broke in from where she was gathered nearby with the other women from the other trucks.

"You want in on a good hunt, Andrea?" The Lieutenant asked.

"Hell yeah."

"Alright, you get that truck home, pick out three of the best shots to come with you and we'll start hunting. If we can do this quick and quiet, we can take them all down within a week."

Andrea beamed widely. "Okay, where do we meet up?"

"Remember the quarry?" Daryl broke in.

"Like the back of my hand," she returned grimly.

"We'll meet up there. Make damned sure you aren't followed."

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****Merle****

Mary Agnes helped him pull the blade off his stump. In the hot Georgian heat, with all the movement and sweat, it was chaffing him something fierce and every night the woman would clean the stump and surrounding area with a cool cloth dipped in well water.

She tsked at the state of his arm. "I thought you were going to start wearing that padded piece I made for under this."

He scowled. "It was too goddamned hot."

"Yeah, well, it would save me having to clean this every night," she murmured.

"Don't matter," he said with a sniff. "I can't feel the pain anymore."

"I don't care," she said gently. "I don't like seeing you hurt yourself like this. Wear the padding."

"You ain't my mother or my wife," he snapped. "I don't have to listen to you."

"Boy, you sure are pig-headed," she returned.

"Really?" He demanded. "Let's talk about you for a moment, sister."

"What about me?"

"'Oh, we couldn't do that, I'm a nun'," he mocked. "Sound familiar?"

"That's not being pig-headed, that's trying to avoid having a behemoth manhandle me under a walnut tree," she shot back with a small grin.

"That's being pig-headed to me."

"Well, you know I'm a nun, Merle," she protested.

"You're a nun like I'm a priest," he snapped.

"It'll take special kind of man who makes me stray, Merle," she said, cleaning up his area idly. "I don't forsake my vows for just any man."

"That other nun went the way of the man," Merle protested.

"That's because the Lieutenant is a good man and she knew it."

"He's a candy-ass."

"He's a modern day saint, Merle. A godsend to us."

"Yeah, patron saint of being a candy-ass."

Mary Agnes stopped what she was doing to give him a warning look.

"I'll treat you like gold," he stated.

"I don't want to be treated like gold," she argued.

He frowned up at her.

Leaning down she kissed his forehead and smiled. "Treat me like you love me. You should love me anyways. You should love all your fellow man."

"Naw," he murmured. "Love ain't in a Dixon man's lexicon."

"Daryl certainly knows the word," she said.

"Well, he's a candy-ass too."

"Merle," she stated firmly. "Be nice."

"This is me being nice, take it or leave it, can't change a man, girl," he said. "Just stop dangling me about."

"I'm not dangling you, Merle," she argued. "I just want to be sure that if I leave my path, if I give myself to you, you won't drop me after you're done."

"Then you don't know me at all," he said with a scowl. "Because I'm too goddamned old to play around anymore, if age don't get me, the walkers or these soldier assholes will."

"Why do you want me?" She asked. "Why me?"

"Because I like the way you smell," he rasped. "I like the sound of your voice and the way you look at me, that kindness in your eyes. You don't look at me like I'm scum. You look at me like I'm human."

When she offered him a small encouraging smile, he went on a little bolder.

"I'd take good care of you. I'd do anything for you. All you'd have to do, girl, is love me in return."

"Okay, Mr. Dixon," she said. "If you want this fat, old nun, you can have her."

He wasn't expecting that, so it startled him at first and he didn't react immediately.

"Did you just realize I was fat?" She teased.

"What? No!" He blinked. "I, uh, was expecting more of a struggle."

She laughed and it was the sweetest thing he had ever heard. "Well, I firmly believe this world is different and…being celibate is the least of my worries."

He was about to say something about her not being celibate long, when Rick entered the shed, looking sheepish for having interrupt them.

"Sorry," he said. "I, uh…Merle, we should talk."

Mary Agnes helped Merle into his blade and gave him a quick kiss to the temple, before hurrying out.

Expecting to be bitched out once more for letting Carl leave, Merle was shocked when Rick pulled up a seat nearby and said. "I want to know what we can about these men. I think tonight you and I should sneak off and try to scout their numbers a bit, see if we can find out where they're holing up."

Merle glared at him for a moment. God he wanted to shoot the man's idea down, but he did send his damned kid away, maybe it was only fair he helped him out.

He sighed though, letting his displeasure out loudly and got to his feet. "Alright, I wasn't planning on sleeping tonight anyways. Who needs it?"

Following Rick out into the yard, Merle scowled at the moonless night. They would be fumbling around in the dark like a couple of virginal dicks looking for the right hole.

Still, he supposed, they couldn't put it off. The sooner they looked into these military fucks the sooner they'd know what they were up against.

Rick stopped by the church to quickly peek in on his baby girl, curled up in her little corrugated plastic box, the same one she was brought in from the prison, the one his brother had scrawled Lil' Asskicker on, the one that was beginning to get too small for her.

Merle waited outside, quietly eyeing the stars overhead and pondering the situation with his nun above all else.

He knew he should be worried about the soldiers in their turf, but all he could think of was Mary Agnes and her damned pretty eyes. She wasn't a real looker, but there was something about her that drew him. He wondered if, like Grace, Mary Agnes wasn't her real name. She looked like a Peggy or a Julia.

Idly he itched at the raw ring of irritated flesh around his forearm, just under his blade brace. Since it was night, maybe he could slip that padding piece on underneath it, but he'd have to find someone to help him and the only people he trusted with his stump was Mary Agnes and Carol, neither were readily available.

When Rick emerged from the church, Merle sucked up his dread and grunted, "I need help before we go."

The ex-cop eyed him for a moment, before nodding. "Alright."

"I have to put a damned padding piece on under this blade of mine." He said, not at all happy to have to resort to asking Rick Grimes off all people for help.

Rick shifted on his feet uncomfortably. "Alright."

"It's either you help me or I act like a pissed off bear with a thorn in my paw all night," Merle said, trying to make the situation less uncomfortable.

"Fine." Rick said. "Let's get it over with."

"You think I'm happy asking you to do this?" Merle snapped. "Ain't like I'm asking you to wipe my asshole or anything. Unless," he added as an easy jib, "my stump scares you? It is pretty gross. Guess a giant pussy like you finds it pretty scary…"

"Merle," Rick warned as they headed back to the shed.

"Sorry, princess, didn't mean to offend you."

"Merle," Rick sighed.

Flopping onto Milton's cot in the wolves den, Merle held up his blade, offering it to Rick with a small, smug grin.

The man carefully approached, hands moving to the straps that held the device to Merle's stump tightly.

"You can grip it and rip it, princess, it won't hurt me," Merle said gruffly. "The damned hand's already come off, not like you can pull it off again."

Rick scowled, but forcefully unstrapped his blade and set it aside, eyes looking everywhere but at the badly scarred stump.

"Where's the padding?" He asked.

Fishing for it from his nearby pack, Merle tossed the lovingly sewn padded gauntlet at Rick and flopped back onto the cot, holding his stump arm up with a smirk.

Carefully slipping the gauntlet on, Rick cleared his throat. "Merle," he began.

"I wouldn't, princess, not now." Merle said, cutting him off. He knew what the cop was working himself up for and it wasn't really necessary. "Just shut up and stick it on."

"Naw, I was…I was going to apologize for Carl, for what I said," Rick explained. "I think you did the right thing, telling him to make up his own mind about things."

"Yeah, I did," Merle said.

"Alright, you're all saddled up," Rick said, giving the last strap a hard tug.

"Much obliged," Merle returned with a grin. "Now let's go do some peeping."

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**DarylDixon'sLover - I might...you never know.**

**DandelionFunky - Well, thank you! Very kind!**

**Brazen Hussy - We're getting there, my friend, we're getting there. (I hope you enjoyed this chapter!)**

**featherpluckns - I kind of love Merle/Carol bromance too. Also, may I just say that whenever I see your name, I think of that Presidents of the United States of America song.**

**Yazzy x - I kind of love Merle too. That's the beauty of fanfiction, I suppose. Keeps the great characters alive and kicking!**

**vickih - I'm a huge Carol/Melissa McBride fan as well. I have a huge crush on her. She's so adorable and beautiful and perfect. *gushes a rainbow***

**Surplus Imagination -I hope at some point Carol gets a chance to tell Daryl about how Merle feels. I think the two Dixon's need to have that conversation. You know?**

**itis3 - Thank you!**

**Claire Randall Fraser - Mine too!**

**HGRHfan35 - Kids do say the damnedest things, huh?**


	16. Dirt

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**Chapter Sixteen: Dirt  
**

****Carl****

They were driving in the dark, Carl hugging his pack close to his chest, frowning at the darkness outside the suburban. Every now and then they would pass a road sign and it would light up brightly against the darkness. The only sound in the suburban was a crackly cassette playing the Steve Miller Band, softly singing about time and eagles.

In the backseat Gwen and her girls were sleeping fitfully, their mother holding both of her daughter's tight against her.

"You don't trust me," Carl said suddenly as they passed another illuminated sign.

"No," Ryan said.

"But you're helping me."

"Gwen made a good point," he said. "I don't like the idea of working with you, but the fact is if my baby brother doesn't ever came back, there's no guarantee we'll be taken in anywhere. Come winter we'll be unprepared and we'll most likely starve. This trip is as beneficial to you as it is to us."

They drove in silence, passing what looked like a walker standing on the side of the road, but it was so fast Carl couldn't tell. He didn't care.

"Why aren't you with your people, Carl?" Ryan asked.

Carl gritted his teeth, a habit he was told by his mother, which was something his dad did under stress. It wasn't stress that had his grinding his teeth, but anger. A violent, ruby red rage deep down that had followed him from the tombs of the prison.

The darkness continued to breeze by them as they sped through Georgia.

"I want to kill people," he confessed.

Beside him Ryan stared so long and hard at him, that he forgot he was driving and nearly steered them into the ditch.

Pulling the suburban over hastily as he recovered, the man turned to Carl with a frown. "Why?"

"Because I hate them."

Gwen, who was wakened by the bad driving, sat forward in the back seat to ask, "why do you hate them, Carl?"

He was quiet, scowling at the darkness.

Ryan and Gwen exchanged a worried look.

"I hate everything," Carl finally admitted, grinding his teeth again.

"Get the fuck out of this vehicle," Ryan commanded.

"Ryan!" Gwen snapped as Carl turned furious eyes on him.

"I don't care," Ryan stated firmly, eyeing Carl. "Get the hell out, now."

Reaching up front Gwen smacked Ryan upside the head, which distracted him from the gun Carl had pulled on him.

Pinned by the barrel aimed at him, Ryan remained motionless, everyone in the suburban was quiet.

"Carl," Gwen said. "You don't want to do that."

"I hate him," Carl growled.

"Yeah, well if you hate me, shoot me, hotshot," Ryan remarked darkly.

A sudden shot left everyone's ears ringing and over the buzzing Ryan shouted.

"Fuck! Jesus fuck!" He gripped his shoulder tightly.

Carl, ignoring the buzzing in his ears, aimed the gun at Ryan's head, just as Gwen swooped in and snatched it, dropping it as it burned her hand onto the floor of the backseat.

"Fucking little fucker shot me! Fuck!" Ryan went on.

Pushing by Phoebe who was holding her ears in the backseat, Gwen got out of the vehicle and opened Carl's door, wrenching him out onto the pavement and kneeling on his back. "Ryan, are you alright?"

"Yeah, no, Gwen, I just have a fucking hole in my fucking shoulder!" Ryan snapped.

"You're still alive," she shouted back. "Carl, calm down."

"I am calm! Get off me!" He argued, reaching for his knife.

She grabbed his hands and properly restrained him. "Carl, listen to me, you don't want to hurt anyone, you're just angry."

"Oh good, council him, Gwen! Head shrink him, I'll just bleed out!" Ryan bitched.

Struggling in the dirt at the side of the road, Carl grunted and twisted like a wild animal, but Gwen kept a firm hold of him with her body and hands. She was stronger than she looked.

"Why do you want to hurt people, Carl?" Gwen asked softly.

Huffing against the ground, Carl again tried to throw her and was once more restrained.

"You can let me try to help you, baby, or we can leave you on the side of the road without your gun," Gwen stated. "Talk to me, Carl. What happened?"

He wriggled again, this time getting a hand loose enough to elbow her hard in the face and squirmed out from under her, turning around with his knife drawn.

She knelt there in the light of the suburban interior, holding her bleeding nose and eyeing him with a quiet, disappointed look his mother had perfected for times when he let her down.

"You wanted our help, Carl," she muttered from behind her hand. "We didn't have to come with you. But something inside you is seeking out people, you're looking to start over, aren't you?"

"Are you serious," Ryan protested wriggling out of his seat clutching his arm and approaching them, coming up behind Gwen, "with this therapist bullshit, Gwen?"

She allowed him to help her stand, while Carl regarded them stoically.

"This is a very real situation," Ryan whispered to Gwen. "Reality, Gwen, remember it?"

"Ryan," she whispered back, still holding her nose. "He's broken."

"Broke—Gwen, you can't fix crazy."

Carl put his knife back quietly and watched them.

"Well, maybe with years of therapy and some heavy anti-psychotics. Here, tilt your head back."

Watching Ryan look at Gwen's nose, Carl sighed. He fucked that situation up. What the hell was wrong with him? He wanted his mom. She always made things better. The realization hit him that she was gone and that she could never fix anything for him anymore hit like it was brand new and he broke down.

"Oh, oh baby," Gwen murmured, approaching him and wrapping him up in a hug.

Carl collapsed against her and sobbed, his mind not on whether she was a threat or not, only on his mother's face.

"Shh," Gwen rocked him gently.

Behind her Carl faintly heard Ryan ask, "okay, which one of you girls wants to stitch me this time?"

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****Daryl****

They were creeping around McCaysville looking for a truck to take so they could roll Daryl's bike up into the back and head for the quarry.

Above them the sky was dark, no moon in sight, only stars spread out forever.

For the twelfth time that night, Daryl just stopped and looked at the stars as Fay tried yet another truck.

"Gas," the Cajun muttered, hopping onto the tailgate beside Daryl and looking hard at him. "What's wrong with you?"

"What?"

"You're quiet."

"I'm always quiet. Don't flap my lips like you."

"No, you're pissy."

Daryl scowled at the stars. When he was a boy he often wanted to catch the stars in a net like they were butterflies, when he was real little he tried a few times and only came up with mosquitoes that just happened to have been in the crossfire.

"A while ago," he began cautiously. "You would have hesitated more."

"Hesitated?"

"Killing these men."

Fay was quiet for a moment, before his sighed. "I might not be a good daddy, I don't know maybe I will, but I have a little girl and a nun and a baby on the way and God forbid a little dog, think she's a basset hound or something. And I have to protect these things and I'm sorry I didn't hesitate, I really am, but I'll protect the things I love however I can and if that means laying low a few army assholes, then so be it. I am not sorry. Because I'm tired and I'm in a Marine state of mind and that Marine is shouting at me to eliminate the threats."

"Careful, brother," Daryl cautioned, "that's the same bumpy road Rick walked and it didn't do him any good."

"Hn."

"Why can't you talk to that Marine friend of yours?" Daryl asked. "See if maybe he can smooth things over? See if, maybe we can resolve this without fighting?"

Fay looked at him in mild astonishment. "Without fighting? Jesus, _cabri_, you're going all squishy on me."

"No, but I have girl and a baby coming too," Daryl amended. "And I'll be goddamned if I let that child be born into a warzone."

"I guess that means you'll be a good daddy," Fay said with a small grin.

"You will too," Daryl objected. "But you think in terms of war. You've thought about nothing but war since you killed Martin."

Fay was silent.

"You never told me what he said to you that night," Daryl said.

"Doesn't matter."

"It does."

Frowning up at the stars, Fay sighed. "He said, 'I was hoping you'd be something, boy. Make me proud. But you're nothing'."

"Were you expecting flowers and hugs?"

"No," Fay returned, "but to have your greatest fear shoved in your face by a man you hate…kind of hits home hard."

"Well," Daryl sniffed contemptuously at the thought of Martin Deveau, "I don't think you could ever be nothing. You talk too damned much to be nothing."

The Lieutenant chuckled, before he clapped Daryl on the back. "Alright, _cabri_, we'll try things your way first, one last attempt to try to reason with them, but if that fails."

"Then we can start shooting up Georgia."

Fay beamed. "Just like the wild west."

"Does that make us the Earp brothers?"

"Yes, you can be the one Sam Elliot played," Fay teased, reaching over and plucking at Daryl's scruff, before hopping off the back of the truck as Daryl took a swipe.

Laughing, the Lieutenant ducked another swing, bringing his shoulder up and under Daryl, flopping the smaller man onto his shoulder and draping him over his back.

Daryl, not used to being manhandled since he was a child, started flailing. "You'd best put me down, dumb ass!"

"Goddamn you're light," Fay remarked, moving away from the truck with Daryl still over his shoulder. "You're so tiny!"

"Put me down, jackass!" Daryl demanded.

Laughing, Fay flopped Daryl onto the ground and leapt back as the smaller man came up swinging.

"Small but mighty," Fay declared as one of Daryl's fists grazed his shoulder. "Like a kitten!"

Taking a low run at the tall Cajun's midsection, Daryl sacked him, knocking him onto the ground.

Laughing hard under Daryl, the Lieutenant was subjected to a couple of slaps on either side of his face, before the Dixon boy finished with a good solid smack to the side of Fay's head. "Should make you eat dirt, asshole."

"Oo ye yi! You'll knock me stupid, _cabri_!" The Lieutenant protested, still laughing.

"Any stupider than you are would be a sin!" Daryl growled, not at all pissed off, but remaining grave faced, sitting on Fay's chest for a few seconds more, before giving him one last smack to the head, gathering up his crossbow and getting to his feet.

Rising to his feet as well, Fay rubbed at his head, eyeing Daryl quietly.

Both men broke up into laughter.

Daryl hadn't laughed so hard in months.

"Ah, my ass hurts," Fay chuckled as they walked off.

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****Carol****

She was up when Grace and the others came back from McCaysville early the next morning. Annie had run out of pills about three days ago and without them, the poor girl was having her night terrors again.

Sitting with Annie cradled against her on the front step of the church, they waited for Grace to return.

Carol didn't hold any hopes for the Lieutenant or Daryl to come back. She figured they'd be laying low for a while until the soldiers left, but Annie needed Grace, so they waited, watching the sky turn dark, then lighten in the East.

As the three trucks pulled in, she let out a small sigh of relief to see the backs of them filled and tarped.

Hopping out of her truck, Grace headed straight for them, sweeping Annie into her arms as the girl took off for her.

"Where's daddy?" Annie chirped, hiding a sleepy face in Grace's tummy.

"He's…coming soon, we might have found more food," Grace said.

Carol moved to join them. "Did you see Daryl?" She asked worriedly.

"Yes, he's fine. He's with Fate," Grace explained, kneeling to speak to Annie. "Why don't you go inside and curl up on my cot? I'll come in and read to you in a little bit, okay?"

Annie nodded and hurried off, her little BB gun bumping and swaying on her back as she ran.

"Grace," Carol began as the two women stood alone in the very early morning. "Did Daryl explain anything? About these men?"

"Yes," the woman answered simply.

"Do you know where this group comes from in Tennessee? Did the Lieutenant say anything?"

"No, why?" Grace asked.

Carol licked her bottom lip. "Never mind, it's not important, I guess."

"Carol?" Grace urged.

"I've just been thinking," Carol began cautiously. "I don't…I'm not in the condition for a big fight, if it comes to that. Neither of us are really, but…maybe if they haven't attacked us yet…maybe I could go and reason with their leader."

"Carol," Grace gasped. "You…that's too dangerous."

"If we can end this peacefully," she went on firmly. "Maybe we can avoid more loss."

"Carol, you can't do that!" Andrea hissed from nearby.

Neither woman had seen her approaching from the trucks. It startled both of them so badly they jumped.

Andrea crept in closer to them. "You don't know what these men are capable of."

"And what if comes to a bigfight, Andrea? What if it's another battle? Or it lasts for months? We'll be too busy fighting and not gathering food. I can't…I can't handle that in my condition."

"And you can't handle the stress if they capture you," Andrea shot back.

Grace frowned. "Maybe they'll listen? Carol has a point, they could have taken us all down if they wanted, they know where we are, but they haven't yet."

"They had a chance to take me at that farm and they didn't," Carol went on, encouraged. "Maybe they'll listen to reason. They can't be the monster's we've come up against."

"And how are you going to approach them?" Andrea asked.

Thinking it over further, Carol adjusted her plans. She had been formulating them all morning as Annie sat sleepily in her arms. "Okay, do you remember when we went to Woodbury dressed in the habits?"

"That was a terrible idea." Grace stated.

"Because we got run down by walkers, yes."

"Carol, don't go to these men!" Andrea stated. "Not dressed like nuns, that's...it didn't work before and it won't work now."

"It's a better way to get near enough to them. Like a white flag. Would you shoot a nun on sight without hearing her out? They might listen to a nun."

"They might also take you hostage and hold you in return for Daryl and the Lieutenant," Grace debated.

"If they wanted to take me hostage, they would have done so when they had the chance at the farm. I think…I hope they'll be willing to listen."

"It's too dangerous, Carol, I can't in good conscience let you go! Look, Daryl and Fate said they'd wait it out, they thought these men would eventually just get tired of waiting and leave." Grace protested.

"Grace, Andrea? If you had the chance to bring peace instead of war, would you take it?"

The former nun was silent. Andrea drawing herself together with a deep breath.

Carol tilted her head. "I know it's a big risk…but I just want them gone and maybe I'm grasping at straws, but we need to do something. I figure if I go to the plantation, I might be able to find that soldier, I hope, he seemed alright. Maybe he'll listen to reason."

"No _we'll_ go," Grace said. "Together."

"Grace—"

"If you're going to be foolhardy, then I'm going to be just as foolhardy. It's my man they're after too, you forget."

"We'll do this smart," Carol assured her. "We'll approach them cautiously, from afar, give ourselves plenty of space."

Andrea stepped in closer. "Look, I told the Lieutenant that I'd go and help them."

"Help them?" Grace demanded.

"They want to fight back."

"No," Grace stated. "That damned fool Cajun will get himself killed!"

"Maybe," Andrea said. "Maybe I'll go with you instead. Send someone in my place…I can…be the front woman instead of you, either of you."

"No," Carol said. "I almost got you killed once, Andrea. I can't let you be the front man. Grace and I will go."

"At least let me come and give you coverage from the trees or something?"

"No, you—"

"You tell that Cajun," Grace interrupted Carol smoothly. "To keep his fool head out of this. Tell him to go far away with Daryl and stay there. He's going to get himself killed, the dumb SOB. Carol and I will handle things for once. Tell him if he even so much as thinks of fighting without us trying the peaceful approach, I'll castrate him."

Andrea flashed Carol a small grin. "Alright. I'll tell him verbatim, but…take someone, at least, to give you coverage and wear some Kevlar vests?"

Carol nodded. "We'll take precautions."

"If we're going to be silly as hens," Grace said, "we'll at least be safe, silly hens. We don't have death wishes. Andrea," she added before the woman could go, "don't tell the Lieutenant or Daryl about this plan, they'll probably run off and get themselves into more trouble. They seem to think we're delicate flowers."

"They're men," Andrea said. "They think all women are wilting pansies."

Carol frowned a little at that. Daryl had certainly looked out for her, but he never once treated her like she was useless. He was probably the only man who ever did. Even the Lieutenant was still of the old school of charm treated women like they were Queens, but not Daryl.

She didn't say anything, just let Andrea walk off, frowning after her.

"Grace?" She asked after a minute.

"Yes?"

"Did the Lieutenant ever teach you about self defense? How to fight in case you need it?"

"He didn't have to, I come from a big family of nothing but boys," Grace said. "He did show me how to sit on a man's chest and push my thumbs into their eye sockets to kill him. Not that I'd like to have to resort to that, but…if push comes to shove."

Carol turned to her. "Do you have a padded bra?"

"Uh, no, just a basic cotton one, why?"

"They're great for hiding pocket knives," Carol explained as they moved off to help unload the trucks. "I'll see if I can dig one up for you."

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**********************Claire Randall Fraser - I have to admit, I agree with you completely. Even when Merle was being a bit of a pig, he was still an oddly charming devil about it.**

**********************DarylDixon'sLover - I said I might. I may not. I don't know at this point. All possibilities are open.**

**********************itsi3 - I'm trying to heal both Rick and Carl, but it's hard. They went too far, I think, it's hard to give either one any peace.**

**********************Yazzy x - I agree. Merle was a plotline to himself that was wasted. I think the show is too quick to kill people. I realize some need to die, but they really should let characters run their course before offing them. Besides the way he died...didn't compute for me. I dunno.**

**********************Surplus Imagination - It is a hard decision to make. I think, because he's come back a little...different after his trip with Daryl, the Lieutenant is on a slippery slope heading to the place Rick went...but yeah, it is a hard decision to make. War or peace? I don't quite know what I'd pick to be honest. I think the Lieutenant picked war, because he's so used to it, being a Marine and all.**

**********************Brazen Hussy - Patience, my friend, it's a virtue! ^_^**

**********************Pam - It's reviews like yours and many others that keep me writing. To be honest, I forsake my original writing for this silly fanfiction, because I get open and honest reviews from people like you who love it so much they feel compelled to review it. So, thank you. A million times, thank you. ^_^**


	17. Sunflower Seeds

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**Chapter Seventeen: Sunflower Seeds  
**

****Cash****

Sitting at the front gate, chair back on two legs, boots propped up against the wrought iron, he pondered the way things were.

Merle's orders had been to not let anyone out of the gate, no one.

Yet, as he snacked on sunflower seeds that were probably too old, here stood Grace and Carol, both women giving him the bald faced stare down.

He liked the women just fine. Carol was quiet and stone cold hard when she wanted, but there was a softness about her that he liked. Grace was stone cold hard all the time, but he supposed that was the nun in her. Still, he didn't pull favours for no one. If his own mama were there, he'd reject her flat too.

"Sorry, ladies," he said after considering their request for a moment. "Orders are to keep this place on lock down."

"Mr. Cash," Grace began. "You can open this gate and let us drive out, or we'll climb the wall and walk to where we're going. If we walk and some unsavoury forces fall upon us, you'll be responsible and I don't think Daryl or the Lieutenant would take kindly to that."

"Ah, but see if I let you drive out, Merle and Rick won't take kindly to that and they're the immediate threat, aren't they?" He shot back.

"Cash, open the gate, please?" Carol tried.

"Where are you girls going anyways? Vacation? Spend a little time among the dead? It ain't _Día de Muertos_ yet."

"We need tampons," Carol said.

Cash froze, a sunflower seed in hand, halfway to his mouth.

"See, one of the other women has a heavy flow and she has a unique shaped vagina, it curves unnaturally, so we need to find some of the curved tampons to stop the blood flow."

Eyeing Carol suspiciously, then Grace, Cash finally said. "I feel like you're trying to shake my foundations, girl."

"She's quite serious, actually," Grace broke in. "It's a rare condition, where the pelvic floor doesn't develop right, so the blood flow from the uterus lining collects, it gets putrid in there and without the—"

"Alright, Jesus, have mercy!" He declared, spitting out any remaining sunflower seeds in his mouth onto the ground. "Christ…does that really happen? That's sick. You women are gross." He smirked and dropped another seed into his mouth. "But I feel you're lying to me, so here's what I'll do," he said, easing the chair onto all fours and getting down to business. "Because you're both so damned cute, I'll open this gate for you, if you take me with you."

"To get tampons?" Carol clarified.

"Yeah, I want to see these mythical crotch stuffers." He sniffed.

"You're a disgusting little man," Grace protested.

"Putrid uterus lining in the vagina," he said simply.

"Fair enough."

"Look, my replacement is due here any second and she's not half as lenient as me. You want out, I want to see Georgia. I've never been to the Little White House. I hear it's beautiful."

"No deal," Carol said.

"Then no exit," Cash retorted. "Mary Agnes is my replacement and I hear she's a real hard ass."

"Alright," Carol agreed. "Let's get the truck and you get the gate."

"How about you get the gate, darling? Let me get in the truck first?"

Carol and Grace exchanged a look.

"Merle was wrong," Grace admitted. "He's not an idiot."

"That's my day job," Cash said, spitting out the shell of his sunflower seed. "It ain't day yet, girl." Handing the keys over to Grace, he smiled smugly. "So, where are we really going?"

"For tampons."

"Yeah, right, my left nut."

"Manners, Mr. Cash," Grace warned, moving to the gate.

He kept pace with Carol, heading for a nearby truck. "Sunflower seed? They're kind of stale, but it's sort of food." He offered, holding the bag out to her.

She took one with a smile. "Thank you."

"Hey? Can I drive?" He asked her.

"Why?"

"I miss the road."

"The road?"

"Yeah, used to calm me."

"Truck driver?"

"No, ma'am. Race car."

Carol stopped at the truck and looked at him. "Really?"

"My sister and I owned a garage in Knoxville, she was better under the hood, but I was better behind the wheel. Not because I was the man, she was…uh, blind in one eye, freak tarp strap incident."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Oh, it…she went the way of a true tough son-of-a-bitch, kicking and clawing."

Unlocking the truck, Cash was shocked when Carol allowed him time to get inside, tucking his rifle behind the seat and hopping onto the bench seat.

"Is that why you sleep in your car? Why you won't let us move it off the grounds?"

"Amanda put a lot of heart and soul in Madonna, said she was her life's work, but I mostly sleep in her because where else can we shove more people here? We're packed to the gills."

They approached the gate slowly as Grace opened it.

"Can I ask you something, Cash?" Carol inquired as they pulled out of the convent grounds, giving Grace enough time to lock up from the inside, leaving the keys on the chair at the gate and hopping over the wall.

"Sure."

"Why are you so hard on Layla and Nadir? Is it because they're Muslim?"

Cash scoffed loudly. "Hell no! I don't care one way or the other. God or Allah, someone fucked up, no...that's not it." He moved over for Grace to slip into the cab.

"Then?" Carol prompted.

Cash scowled. "Well, that woman is barking up the wrong tree."

"You're gay?" Grace asked.

"What? No! I'm married," he said.

"Married? Is she…I'm mean, you can't be anymore though, right?" Carol demanded.

"I'm married to Madonna."

The cab was silent.

"The…singer or the Virgin Mary?" Grace asked.

"My car."

Everyone was silent, before Carol burst out laughing. "Oh! You're teasing us!"

"No," he objected.

Grace leaned in towards him. "Are you serious?"

"No," he declared with a grin. "You girls are fun, this'll be a good trip."

"You know we're not going for tampons, right?" Carol asked.

"Yeah, I know, Andrea told me you're going to talk to those soldiers, said to go with you by any means possible, give you some back up."

"She told you?"

"Yeah, seemed intent on getting you girls some firepower at your backs and figured I'd be best for the time."

"Because you're a good shot?" Carol asked.

"No, because you wouldn't expect me." He looked at first Grace, then Carol on either side of him. "So, how's this going to work? Are you going to shimmy into those habits you brought right now and I'll just pretend to close my eyes or…?"

"Or we could pull over right here and kick your butt out," Carol finished.

Cash looked to Grace who smiled broadly at him.

"Are you serious?"

"No," she said.

"Maybe," Carol amended.

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* * *

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****Carl****

When he woke, the first thing his mind registered was feeling warm and the soft feel of someone against him.

Opening his eyes further, he realized he was being lulled by the wheels of a vehicle on asphalt and blinked rapidly to regain his senses.

Pressed against Gwen, covered by an emergency blanket, he realized it was her arm around him that provided a lot of the warmth.

She held him like a mother would, tucked under her arm, against her side. Protectively and comfortingly.

It both endeared him and tore at his heart, because he wanted that, but at the same time it reminded him that he could never have that again.

He pushed away from her sullenly.

In the front Phoebe drove, hunched almost nervously over the wheel, while Ryan sat in the passenger seat, his shoulder bandaged. His army coloured Kevlar vest was off and sitting on the floor at Carl's feet, the area just to the left of one of the shoulder straps covered in blood.

In the rear view mirror, Ryan kept one eye on Carl, the other on Phoebe at the wheel, but he didn't say anything.

Noticing that his father's gun was back at his side, Carl frowned. If it was him, he wouldn't have given the gun back, but these people seemed stupid and easily led.

Maybe it would have been a mercy killing them. They wouldn't last much longer in the world going the way they were, probably more humane to put a bullet in their brains now and be done with it.

"I gave you the gun back," Gwen said, noticing him touching the handle. "But Ryan took the bullets."

Carl turned hard eyes on Gwen, before shining his glare on Ryan in the rear view mirror.

The man stared back just as hard, unrelenting.

"You'll get the bullets back when you stop behaving like an animal," Ryan stated flatly.

Checking himself for his knife, Carl found it was missing.

In the front, Ryan held the knife up high, before opening his window and reaching out to jab it hard into the side of the suburban, out of reach, but not completely gone.

"You'll blunt it," Carl pointed out stubbornly.

"Oh well, safer that way," Ryan replied.

Sitting as far from Gwen as he could, Carl glared out the window, deeply regretting his decision to hook these people into helping him. He initially thought they'd be good walker fodder if he needed, but he was beginning to regret it. No matter how much he wanted to impress the group by bringing home food, it wasn't worth this.

He had hoped getting out of the convent would push the memories out from behind his eyes, but it didn't, it only made things worse.

It was like the worst of any road trip his father took them on. Like when they visited grandma Florence and grandpa Frank and Carl got violently sick on the return trip and his dad had to stop every mile for Carl to throw up.

Even then it was better than this trip.

He was supposed to be in charge of these people, he was supposed to be the one leading them. He had hoped, anyways, that he had found a group of his own and could stay away from the convent. That would show his father that he had made a huge mistake.

"Okay, Phoebe, we're running low on diesel, better pull it over so we can look around for more fuel," Ryan said.

Blinking away from his thoughts, Carl pressed against the window and frowned. "There's a turn off nearby, should be on your left," he said.

"What's down that turn off?" Ryan asked.

"Quarry," Carl returned. "I think…we can hole up there until we find some diesel."

"Okay, Phoebe pull down that road."

As the suburban drove into the deeply wooded area surrounding the quarry, Carl could see the rising sun streaming light in through the trees and while it was beautiful, he felt nothing but dread and an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

Something inside him said they shouldn't be here, they shouldn't.

But he couldn't say anything and they kept driving, right by the graves of the fallen from that night, right by the place where Andrea put Amy to rest, where so many survivors were left behind. A trail of dead to mark their journey.

They crested the hill and then turned down the curve into the camp where the stripped Mustang Glenn had driven back from Atlanta still sat, where a few other scattered vehicles and belongings lay, ravaged by time and animals and walkers.

He recalled another sight similar, when he was doing research on Mount Everest in school and stumbling upon gruesome pictures of men who had fallen along the trip up to the peak, they couldn't be carried back, so they were left where they fell, dressed in garishly coloured snowsuits, their packs left beside them, scattered by the cruel winds of the mountain.

This was the first plateau on their Everest, where remnants of their numbers had left their mark on the mountain.

Carl hopped out of the suburban as soon as it stopped and rushed to the very edge of the steep incline down to the quarry. He remembered trying to catch frogs with Shane, scratching out tic-tac-toe with Sophia in the dirt, singing campfire songs with T-Dog and Dale.

They were all scattered now along the trail.

His mother too rested with T-Dog at the prison, another garishly dressed mountaineer who didn't make it to the peak.

Carl sat on the edge of the embankment and stared down at the beautiful cerulean waters of the quarry.

He didn't see the silent exchange behind him, didn't notice Gwen motioning to him with her chin and Ryan shaking his head. He didn't even realize they noticed him sitting there, until Ryan eased down beside him resignedly, keeping a safe distance, but close enough.

Ryan didn't say anything for a while, just took in the place.

"It's okay," Carl said. "You guys can pick over what we left behind. There's nothing much of use, but you should go through it anyways."

"My shoulder's fine, thanks for the concern," Ryan greeted.

Carl glared hard at him.

The man forced a smile, but killed it almost as soon as it appeared. He looked around again. "So? You've been here before with your group?"

Carl pointed down the road they came. "Some of them are still here."

"I'm sorry, Carl. Family?" Ryan asked.

"Yes," Carl returned. "All of them."

Sniffing, Ryan shifted on the embankment, leaning back on his better arm. "Yeah, I understand that feeling. It's kind of how I feel about Gwen and the girls."

Carl looked over at them. "You don't protect them properly."

"Don't I?"

"I could have killed all of you."

Ryan laughed, but sobered quickly. "Yes, you could have, Carl. But that close, shooting me, you fired a warning shot. Not even a greenhorn like you could have missed my brainpan."

Carl was silent.

"You don't want to kill anyone, Carl. You hate everyone and everything, but you don't want to kill people."

"You don't know me."

"No," Ryan said. "But you lost…what? A mother? Brother? Sister? Something? I lost everyone. I wandered Wyoming and Colorado for a week, I didn't care of someone shot me or if I got my ass chewed on, I didn't care. I wanted to die, but I was too much of a coward to do it myself. I came across this screaming coming from an old gas station in Eaton, Colorado. Two men had knocked Gwen out and were trying to…harm the girls. I dragged them outside, fucked them up before I killed them. Made goddamn sure they didn't get to hell without a scratch. And to tell you the truth, Carl, if it wasn't for Gwen and those girls, this new family of mine, I would be dead. They gave me reason, a purpose to fight. You must still have that, somewhere inside you, Carl, because otherwise you wouldn't be out here looking for food to feed your people."

Carl pondered this quietly, rolling the words over in his head, pulling a lesson out of them. "I don't know what I want," he confessed suddenly.

Ryan quirked a brow at him and pushed to his feet. "Well, you'll know it when you see it."

"Ryan?" Carl asked, getting to his feet as well. "I'm sorry I shot you. I won't do it again."

"That's cool, you're still not getting your bullets back," Ryan said with a small grin.

"My knife?" Carl asked.

"Hell no, Jackie O!" Ryan declared.

Carl followed him. "What if I see a walker?"

"Beat it with a stick," Ryan suggested.

"That's unfair."

Ryan turned on him, pointing hard in his face. "You shot me, small fry, _that's_ uncool. Now come on, you can help me hunt the highway for some diesel. Gwen! You're in charge!"

"Hey, Carl," Gwen called him over as Ryan moved off down the road.

Carl moved close to the woman.

She handed him a bat from the back of the suburban with a small smile. "Take care of Ryan, okay? I know he's a grump, but he's all we have."

Looking at the woman, the kind shine to her beautiful brown eyes, the impish smile she offered him, Carl nodded and took the bat gratefully as she reached out and stroked his hair off his forehead.

"Be careful," he said to her softly. "I don't want to bury anyone else here."

To his shock he realized he meant that. He liked Gwen. She was the only person in a long time who looked at him like that. She looked at him like he was capable and trusted, like he mattered. He'd take care of Ryan, because she asked.

Moving off down the road, hurrying to catch up with Ryan, Carl's footsteps faltered as Simone shouted after him.

"If you both come back safely I'll show you my boobs!"

He turned in time to see Phoebe slap her sister hard upside the head with her book as the two girls stood on the roof of the suburban.

Carl swallowed thickly, realizing then and there how badly he kind of wanted to see a pair of boobs.

Maybe not Simone's. But someone's.

Flushing brightly, he hurried after Ryan down the road.

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**************************DarylDixon'sLover - I'll see where the story takes me. I do want a happy ending, but it is the Walking Dead...people need to die. But I'm fighting, my friend. I am!**

**************************Brazen Hussy - Oh, like you've never shot someone...judgy. ^_^ But yeah, I'd knock Carl's ass out and haul him back to where we found him.**

**************************Merle's Right Hand - Girl's always bring the pain. They just do it in more subtle ways.**

**************************Yazzy x - I agree on the Merle thing. Thank God for fanfiction.**

**************************Pam - Aw, once more you made my day. Thank you! I'm glad you liked the play fight, I enjoy the fact that Daryl is comfortable enough with the Lt to let him just tug at his scruff and haul him around like a brother would.**

**************************itsi3 - I'm worried about everyone at this point.**

**************************Lilone1776 - I heartily agree. Daryl and the Lt are going to be pissed, but on the same hand, I think it takes a lot of courage for Carol and Grace to try peace before war, it's hard in their world to try things the hard way (which, I guess would be peace). Also the prayer was a good touch, I can't refuse a prayer...what kind of all knowing author entity would I be?**

**************************vickih - I hope to God the Lt doesn't go down that path, but I think Daryl will keep him right. They sort of need each other more than I think either would let on.**

**************************Surplus Imagination - Carl and Rick both need mending, I think. They're both pretty broken.**

**************************ProudMomma89 - I kind of feel the same way. I enjoy writing this series so much. I know I said this might be the last one...but I dunno. Maybe I'll come back with a series of oneshots or something. Thanks for the review! Always appreciated! ^_^**


	18. Taco

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**Chapter Eighteen: Taco  
**

****Carl****

They walked for about two miles in search of a diesel vehicle to siphon, but the closer they came to Atlanta, the more Carl realized they would have to turn back and look the other direction down the highway.

Neither he nor Ryan wanted to go into Atlanta just the two of them without properly scoping the place.

So they walked the eight miles back to the quarry approach, then another ten before the came across a vehicle.

It was regular, so they kept on.

By now the sun was approaching the middle of the sky, blazing down on them hot and imposing.

"Ryan?" Carl asked as they walked.

"Hm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask me a lot of things," Ryan said.

"You know girls, right?"

"Any in particular or all of them? Or are you asking me if—"

"What…ah…what's with them?"

"What's with them?"

"Do they…how do you…?"

Slowing down, Ryan eyed him. "You're not perving after my girls, are you?"

"No! Just…my dad always used to say he'd tell me when I got older and—"

"Oh, you're asking about, like, sex?"

Carl flushed brightly.

Ryan chuckled. "Carl, I'm not sure you want me to answer that question. My experience with women has always been varied."

They walked for a ways more.

"Okay, here's what I know," Ryan said. "No is an absolute, there's no arguing that. She says 'no' you pull it the fuck back. Never call her a 'bitch' that's just rude, you wouldn't speak to your mother with that mouth and you sure as hell don't speak to anyone with that mouth. Three, always wrap it up. As long as condoms last, you wrap it. Four, if she does you solid, you return the favour."

"Like? If she...?"

"If she...gives you...eat the taco once in a while, is all I'm saying."

"Taco?"

"You'll know when the time comes."

Carl nodded, mentally taking notes. They both paused at the sound of an approaching vehicle coming down the highway and ducked down in the ditch, hiding in the tall grass.

As the truck that came into view slowed to go around two vehicles that seemed to have collided in the middle of the highway, Carl stood up, recognizing the face in the driver's seat.

"Andrea!" He shouted, raising his arms and waving.

She slowed the truck to a stop. "Carl? What are you doing so close to Atlanta?"

Carl shifted on his feet, he wanted the food he brought back to be a surprise.

Ryan stepped in for him quickly. "He's helping us out. Hi, Ryan. Kowalski," he added.

"Carl?" Andrea asked. "Are you okay?"

Inside the cab of the truck Michonne and Tyreese eyed Ryan almost threateningly.

"Yeah," Carl said. "They ran out of diesel back at the quarry, we're looking for some."

"You're not from Tennessee, are you?" Andrea asked.

Ryan shook his head. "Wyoming."

"Okay, well, we're heading to the quarry now," Andrea said, still eyeing Ryan carefully. "How about we give you a lift back and then help you find some?"

Carl looked at Ryan, before nodding. "Yeah, probably best you don't drive up and spook Gwen."

Ryan hopped into the back of the truck over the side, while Carl was still too short to take that route and walked around.

"Your people?" He asked as they started off driving.

Carl nodded.

"Do we like them or hate them?" Ryan asked with a smirk.

Carl smiled back a little. "These three are okay."

"Your people aren't…" he made a motion of a gun with his hand.

Carl shrugged. "Depends on if they like your or not."

"Think I should work a little charm on the blonde, then?" Ryan teased.

Chuckling, Carl hid his smile by wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

"I wouldn't try it," he said after he sobered. "With Andrea or Michonne. I don't know where Tyreese stands on men, but probably not with him either."

"Damn, he was my next choice," Ryan said.

Again Carl hid a grin, by turning his head.

Beside him, Ryan elbowed him. "Are you smiling over there?"

"No."

The man leaned forward to try to catch a glimpse, forcing Carl to angle his head more.

"You're stupid," Carl said. He looked over at Ryan and remembered where they were. He fell silent, scowling at the highway they were leaving behind. Ryan would probably die. Everyone Carl liked died.

He studied Ryan's face, filing it away for memories, looking at the bloody patch on the top of his shoulder where the bullet grazed him. Carl didn't memorize his mother's face enough. Her features were blurred in his mind, he couldn't remember what her nose looked like or how her eyebrows arched.

"You alright?" Ryan asked.

Carl looked away, scowling.

"Hey," Ryan said. "Wanna see something gross?"

"No."

Ryan didn't seem to be listening, instead he was holding his long fingered hand up and bending it in a way that seemed to gnarl the tips, bending them unnaturally.

Carl looked away.

"I'm going to take your silence as you being impressed by my double joints," Ryan said.

They pulled down the road, winding their way to the quarry.

"Ryan?" Carl asked as they drove past the makeshift graveyard.

"Hm?"

"Why'd you come all this way? Why didn't you stay in Wyoming?"

"Because if there's even a slim chance my baby brother will come back to me, then I'll take it."

"Why?"

"Because he's all I have," Ryan sighed. "Because he's my baby brother and I have to look out for him."

Carl blinked up at Ryan.

He smiled. "Between you, me and that coil of rope there, I kind of love him, you know?"

"That's the dumbest thing I ever heard," Carl snapped.

They fell silent as the truck pulled up in front of the suburban, Gwen raised the rifle she had warningly, until she spied them and lowered it.

"You have an older brother, Carl?" Ryan asked as he stood up.

He shook his head.

"Hn, you need one."

"Why?"

"Because you look like you don't get enough of these," Ryan declared, hooking his arm around Carl's neck and giving him a hard noogie, before jumping off the side of the truck to avoid the retaliation.

"Gwen, it's okay," Ryan said to the woman as he approached her. "I'm told they're only gun happy with bad guys."

Carl glowered after Ryan, trying to jump over the edge of the truck after him, before just slipping his legs over it and hopping down, following Ryan in order to introduce everyone.

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He was sitting on the embankment later, dangling his feet over the edge, when Michonne joined him, sitting at his side and gazing down at the water.

"Andrea says you've been here before," she said.

"Long ago, back when it first started," he said. "How's my dad?"

"He's fine, staying back with Merle and Glenn to watch over the convent. Boy, he wanted to come, but Andrea's a bulldog."

Carl tried a smile, but it didn't feel right.

"Not looking forward to seeing Daryl and the Lieutenant," she went on in that soft, velvet smooth voice of hers.

"Why?"

"Because they're going to be pissed."

"What happened?"

"Carol and Grace took off, trying to talk peace."

"They'll get killed," Carl stated.

"Maybe, but maybe not, I guess we'll know soon enough."

"Daryl's going to shit a cat," Carl said.

"Yes, he will. I don't know the temper of that Cajun boy very well, but I'd imagine he'd be mad as hell too."

"Who gets to tell them?"

Michonne smirked darkly. "Andrea's the one who let them go off, she gets to be in the line of fire."

Carl smiled a little at that.

"She can handle herself," Michonne went on. "So, what's with the Brady Bunch?"

"Found them wandering around, they seem pretty useless, thought I'd help them out a little."

Michonne nudged him. "I dunno, that Marine boy seems like he knows his way around a gun."

"You're just saying that because he's good looking," Carl growled.

The woman laughed softly. "How do you know he's good looking?" She teased.

Carl felt his face grow hot and he swallowed. He didn't honestly think anything of it when he said Ryan was good looking, because he was? Wasn't he? For a man? He took another quick look at the man who was talking amiably with Andrea and Tyreese.

"I was teasing, Carl," Michonne said.

He scowled at the waters below them.

"I want to go for a swim," she said suddenly and stood up.

"In the water?"

"No, in the trees," she shot back. "Come on. You can be my lookout."

"What if there's walkers in there?" Carl protested. That one in the well at the Greene farm came to mind and…he didn't think water would kill them, would it?

"It's so hot out, I'm willing to risk it," she said, tugging him by the arm in the direction of the path that wound down the steep hill.

"Where're you two off to?" Tyreese called out as they passed.

"Swimming," Michonne said.

"Have fun," he replied.

"I'm in!" Simone chirped.

"There's no way in hell you're going in that water," Ryan argued.

"Mom!" Simone whined.

"You heard your Marine, no," Gwen stated.

"Ah hell," Tyreese said, stripping off his shirt and following them. "I'm going."

"What about Daryl and the Lieutenant?!" Andrea shouted.

"Leave them a note!"

"Mom?!" Simone pleaded loudly as Carl and Michonne were already halfway down the path.

Carl allowed Michonne to tug him right up to the edge of the beautiful blue-green waters, where they both stopped and just looked at it for the longest time.

"Well," she said, kicking off her boots. "You're damned if you do and damned if you don't. And I'm not wasting this." She slipped out of her pants and keeping her tank on, stuck a toe into the waters.

"What's it like?" Tyreese asked, joining them.

"Heaven," she said wading in further. "It's so refreshing."

Carl remained rooted. "Come out if you feel anything touch you," he said, still worrying about something lurking under the surface of the water.

Michonne dove head first into the relatively clear waters and emerged a distance out. "Nothing as far as the eye can see!" She exclaimed. "Some fish and weeds, but no dead."

Tyreese, who was already swimming out to join her, laughed. "That's a load of my mind, this water is too nice to abandon because of one of those damned things."

Simone and Phoebe joined Carl on the shore, Simone already stripping down to her t-shirt and underwear.

Carl assumed she won the battle.

Gwen eventually came as well, along with Andrea, both picking their way down the path.

Ryan, who stood sullenly for the longest time at the top, disappeared and reappeared a short while later, presumably leaving a note on one of the windshields. He didn't look pleased, but he didn't look angry either, more curious about the water.

Andrea stood by Carl, looking out at the water sadly. He knew how she was feeling, he felt it too upon coming back to the quarry, but she must be feeling it ten times worse, because her sister was still buried here.

Shyly, he slipped his hand into hers and offered her a small smile.

She chased her tears away quickly and cleared her throat. "It's so beautiful here, isn't it?"

He nodded.

"I want to live here!" Simone declared loudly as she swam past Michonne who was splashing Tyreese and Phoebe.

Carl couldn't help but laugh as Phoebe sent a huge wave of water at Ryan who was standing too close to the edge.

The man leapt back in shock.

The urge to go into the water hit him suddenly and Carl began to strip down to his skivvies in order to join the others. He waded out, instantly cooled in the unbearable heat by the water. It looked like liquid aquamarine, it was so blue and beautiful.

As soon as he was in deep enough, he slipped under the waves and sunk to the bottom of the water.

The absolute isolation was comfortable, there was no sound, nothing. Every now and then through the blue-grey haze he would see legs and a form silhouetted against the sun that trickled through the surface of the water, but otherwise he was alone.

When his lungs began to burn for air, he surfaced in the middle of a chicken fight that featured Simone and Phoebe on Tyreese and Michonne's shoulders, kicking and pushing at each other.

It was like the world wasn't changed for the worse. It was like a day on the beach with friends.

Carl smiled broadly for the first time in nearly a year.

Ryan bumped up beside him, having shed his gear and pack, and smirked. "What say we give them hell next round?" He suggested.

"Okay," Carl said, before he could stop himself. He wanted to join in so bad that he forgot the threats of danger for a while.

They went three rounds with Phoebe and Michonne, before Carl got knocked off, when he came back up from the water, he glanced to the shore and saw Daryl and the Lieutenant moving down it.

Swimming to shore quickly, Carl wanted to be there when they lost their shit. He kind of liked a good fight.

Ryan and the others eventually joined him, as the Lieutenant and Daryl moved up to stand with Andrea.

"Looks inviting," the Lieutenant greeted with an easy grin.

"By all means, join us," Michonne said.

"He can't," Daryl said.

"Can't swim, Lieutenant?" Tyreese taunted.

"Oh, I swim like a fish, but I don't have a suit," the Lieutenant returned, warily eyeing the newcomers to the group with cautious eyes.

"We're just in our underwear."

"Yeah," Daryl said. "He ain't got no suit, dumb ass likes it commando style. Who the hell are these guys?" He jerked his chin at Ryan and Gwen.

"They're with Carl," Andrea said.

"What the hell is Carl doing here?" Daryl went on questioning.

"Swimming," Carl returned.

"Ryan Kowalski," he stepped forward. "Do I salute you, Lieutenant or…?"

"You from Tennessee?"

"I know I'm a ten, but I can't be the only one you see?" Ryan shot back with a grin.

"Yes or no," Daryl snapped.

"No," Ryan fell sombre. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

"Kowalski…" the Lieutenant began. "That's not…you don't know a deaf boy named Kowalski, do you?"

"He's my brother," Ryan explained.

"Alright," the Lieutenant turned back to Andrea. "So? This everyone? Are we ready to do this?"

"Actually," Andrea began.

Carl took a seat beside Ryan on a nearby overturned boat.

"We're going to put off fighting for a bit," Andrea finished.

Daryl and the Lieutenant looked at each other, before Daryl asked, "why?"

"Because, uh, we're going to try to negotiate peace with them."

"Peace?"

"You know," Michonne broke in, "not fighting?"

"So, what?" The Lieutenant began, kicking at the pebbles that made up the beach. "You're the posse that's going to turn us in?"

"Of course not," Andrea snapped. "We just came to tell you to cool your heels for a bit."

Daryl sneered, but said nothing, the Lieutenant shrugged. "Alright, who's negotiating for us? Rick? Merle? I hope to God not that pocket mouth Cash?"

Carl rest his chin in the palm of his hand, his elbow propped up on his knee.

"Ah…no."

"Do we have to go through the entire convent before you tell us, or…?" The Lieutenant urged.

Andrea shifted on her feet, before meeting his eyes defiantly. "Carol and Grace left this morning, thought they could talk some sense in—"

"_Pardon_?" The Lieutenant demanded.

"Grace and—"

"Are you fucking kidding?" Daryl broke in loudly, stepping in close to Andrea.

"No, they wanted to try."

"And you just let them walk?" Daryl demanded, getting in her face.

"They're grown women! They can handle themselves!" Andrea shouted back.

"They have wee shrimps growing in them," the Lieutenant pointed out in an even tone that Carl had never heard. It was almost scary. He kind of liked it. It soothed the heat of the Dixon anger.

"So? I'm not going to tether them to the convent grounds like dogs!" She stated. "You two are always running off, endangering your dumb asses and those women have to sit at the convent fretting and worrying! Maybe it's fair for once that you two stew?!"

"This isn't about the war of the sexes, Andrea! Wrong damned time to get up on that peach box!" Daryl snarled, pacing back and forth like a caged cat.

"Where'd they go?" The Lieutenant asked, his tone still cold as clay.

"I don't know," Andrea said.

"Who went with them?"

"Cash."

Carl watched as the Lieutenant blinked at her calmly, one eyebrow inching up high on his forehead.

"You fucked up," he said to her quietly, turning to head back up the path.

"I fucked up?" Andrea demanded, trailing after him. "It was you and Daryl who brought these men back to Georgia!"

The Lieutenant turned on her then. "Andrea, you want to be treated like a man, then by God I will lay you flat like I would any man who boiled my blood this hot!"

"You're going to what?" Michonne broke in calmly. "Go after them? Lieutenant, it won't do them any good to have you strolling right into the hands of the men who are after you."

Both Daryl and the Lieutenant stopped and turned around to hear her out.

Michonne approached them. "Let's just wait it out and put a little faith in those two?"

Carl watched both men mull this over, glancing behind him to Gwen who had a protective hand on the shoulders of both her girls.

"_Cabri_?" The Lieutenant asked Daryl.

He shifted on his feet, casting Andrea a death glare. "Carol can handle herself."

"Okay, we cool our heels."

Andrea approached them slowly, stopping only when the Lieutenant pointed a finger at her.

"I swear to God if anything happens to those women, I will lay you lower than any man has ever been laid, yeah?"

"Fair enough," she said.

As the two men stormed up to the top of the hill, Andrea sighed heavily and turned to Michonne with a smile. "I was expecting to be punched."

"Think you were close," she returned.

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******************************Brazen Hussy - Twelve hours after laughing at your comment...I'm still chuckling. XD**

******************************Pam - I'm glad you like Cash. I see him as the kind of foot-in-the-mouth type, who has moments where he endears himself to people, then destroys all he's built up five minutes later.**

******************************spygrrl99 - I'm thinking five months doesn't show as badly as full on eight-nine, the voluminous robes of a nun would conceal it better. But the habits will be moot anyways if they run into Rhoades, who's already seen Carol pregnant. Each review I get from you is a treasure to me, I'll certainly miss them. ^_^**

******************************Claire Randall Fraser - Ah youth! Where thoughts turn to boobs or peen, whichever you prefer.**

******************************Merle's Right Hand - Blowin' smoke, blowin' smoke...**

******************************Yazzy x - I've done my job properly if that's all you can review about. XD**

******************************Surplus Imagination - You're very welcome!**

******************************vickih - I hope Carl straightens out, I'm actually beginning to enjoy writing him.**

******************************itsi3 - Never trust anything Cash says, I think he likes to bluff a lot, unless it's about his sister and his car. ^_^**

******************************Queenola-Witty - I'm glad that came across. I was trying to subtly suggest that Carl may be broken and it may be the end of days, but he's still a teenage boy and is still beginning to notice things like girls and boobs.**


	19. Venison

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**Chapter Nineteen: Venison**

****Carol****

"I feel like a heretic wearing the habit again in my condition," Grace murmured.

Carol smoothed the black fabric over her stomach and smiled faintly. If she moved certain ways, she supposed it would show, but it could also be mistaken for a little spare tire.

They had pulled over at an abandoned roadside house to change, Cash waiting in the truck with the stern warning he'd be shot in the face if he tried peeking.

Carol eyed Grace's breasts as she smoothed the black tunic over them. She had given her a padded bra, but it was a little too big and they were forced to stuff it in order to make them seem natural.

It looked fine from her perspective.

She shook her head. "I would give anything to be a B cup," she murmured as they continued dressing.

"Well, you can have them. I think they're growing anyways."

"They're getting ready for the baby. Mine went up two cup sizes with Sophia."

"Good Lord," Grace exclaimed. "I don't know how I feel about that."

"Why?"

"I have a hard enough time keeping that Cajun from pawing my breasts, never mind if they enhance two cup sizes."

Carol laughed and pulled the white collar and cowl on over her hair. "What's he like? The Lieutenant?"

"Carol!" Grace declared, touching a shocked hand to her chest.

She smiled, touching the edge of the cowl to ensure her short grey hair was hidden under it. "I've always wondered."

"Well," Grace began with a sly grin, "I have no one to compare him to, but I'm sure he's no Valentino. He knows his way around, though."

The two women smiled broadly as they continued dressing.

"What about Daryl? What's he like?"

"He does his best, but I don't think he's had much experience with women. He's tough, but painfully shy and I think it didn't give him a lot of practice," she confessed. "But he's a good learner."

"Well, it could be worse, you could have a Cajun swamp giant who knows too much."

"What do you mean?" Carol asked, pulling on the veil, wimple and coif, adjusting them once they were on.

Grace flushed a little pink. "Well, he…he learned early on that I…that if he touched my breasts in the right way, I'd…uh…finish the race."

"Grace!" Carol exclaimed.

The woman flushed bright red, but stalwartly marched on. "Well, since he's come home he's taken every chance he can get day or night to…make the attempt. I finally told him I was going to stick mousetraps down there to thwart him like one of those cartoon women do."

"Does it ever bother you, I mean, that he flirts with anything that moves?" Carol asked.

Grace laughed softly. "No, he's a big ol' mouth piece that one, but I know his heart belongs to Annie and I." She leaned in close to Carol and added, "between you and I, I kind of like it. I mean, he could charm his way into any woman's bed with that silver tongue of his, but he's with me by choice. Which, I guess makes it pride on my part, but I can't help it. I kind of adore him." Grace frowned then. "But don't tell him I said that, it'll go right to his head and he won't ever let me live it down."

Carol beamed. "Well, if it makes any difference, I know he's devoted to you and Annie."

"First month Annie was with us, Lafayette fumbled about with her, not knowing how to treat her or act around her. Obviously, he had never been a father and never had experience with children. I didn't know then what kind of man he was, so I kept Annie away from him, not out of fear, but because I didn't want her wearing him down. But she loved him from first sight, always trailing after him and drawing him pictures and just wanting to be near him. Well, one night we had a terrible storm, it was so frightening, even I felt unnerved and so Annie climbed into bed with me. A little while later, I hear him outside, screaming into the night, his voice barely making it over the storm, he was tearing the convent up looking for her. Apparently he had gone to check on her, thinking she'd be terrified of the storm and when he couldn't find her…I have never seen him more frightened in my life. I knew then and there, staring at that drowned Cajun wolf in the night, with the lightning strikes illuminating him, that he was a good man. That he was a great man. Maybe I fell in love with him a little then, he was awfully wet and handsome and when Annie ran up and he hoisted her into his arms, he looked like a man who could only ever be a father and husband. I tamped down those feelings, I had to. You're trained as a nun to show compassion, but never love. It's funny, but we're so very far from God's teaching as nuns. We're kept at an arm's length from people. Cloistered and sometimes silent, but I like this way of devoting myself to God better. More love." She waved her hand, chasing away the subject. "In any matter," she said, "enough of my lips flapping, what about you and Daryl? You never told me how that got started."

Carol laughed. "You know, I can't pinpoint it. Not really. We were both kind of outsiders initially. At the quarry, with Ed watching over me so carefully I was quiet, scared. I had to keep my place as a woman, you know? I was only there for service and sex and I had no voice or opinion on anything. He used to tell me that no one would miss me. He had a backyard and shovel. So I kept quiet and learned my place with him. Daryl was the same, I think, with Merle. Merle wasn't kind when he was on something, drunk he was loud and abusive, on whatever drugs he took, he was reckless and manic and I think Daryl was like me, he knew his place when Merle was around. So we both fringed the group. Then the group started getting smaller, Ed died, Merle was gone, Sophia went missing and suddenly Daryl and I both had voices and opinions and we mattered, but…we kind of fell into place together. He tore Georgia apart looking for Sophia and I tore my heart out feeling like it was my fault she was gone. I didn't watch her like a mother, I was too busy acting like a freed woman, ogling red shirts and chatting with Lori and Sophia just…was gone. And Daryl looked everywhere, I don't think he would have stopped looking if he hadn't seen Sophia walk out of that barn with his own eyes. Before we found Sophia he brought me this rose, this wild white rose, a Cherokee rose, he called it," Carol touched a hand to the wooden rose that she was wearing under the tunic and smiled fondly. "He was comforting me the best way he could and I think he feels like he fumbled it. Like he didn't help me at all, but he doesn't know how much I valued that. I'd never been given flowers before and it was in a beer bottle, but it was perfect, it didn't give me Sophia back, but it was comforting, because it meant someone cared. And when I looked at that rose, it meant that Ed was wrong, that someone would miss me if I were ever gone. You don't know how important it is to have the love of a Dixon. I don't think they can give love easily, but I think it's forever when they do."

Grace smiled sadly. "I always liked Daryl. But I didn't know that boy had it in him." She fixed her coif. "Well, we both have a lot to fight for, don't we?"

"I'm ready," Carol said.

"I've never been so ready in my life." Grace returned.

They looked at each other, before Grace began with a sly grin, "do we Thelma and Louise it now?" She held out her hand with an impish smile.

Carol laughed and took her offered hand, walking out hand in hand with Grace. "You've definitely been spending too much time with the Lieutenant."

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****Gwen****

The others were still splashing around in the water, kicking and screaming like kids, with only that blonde woman Andrea and Gwen watching over them from the banks like a pair of mothers, when that Marine fellow and the scruffy man came wandering back down the path, both of them looked a little abashed.

They sidled up beside Andrea, before the taller man cleared his throat.

"Uh, Andrea?" He drawled in a funny southern accent.

Gwen admired the southern accents she had been blessed with since coming down from the north, but his was just lovely. She assumed it was Louisianan since he used a bit of French earlier.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" Andrea returned.

The man shifted on his feet. "Uh, Daryl and I would…we were talking and, uh, we both feel we may have…see? We just kind of love those women of ours and…you're right it is our fault and…uh, we're sorry for being giant bastard dogs."

"And?" The woman encouraged.

"And you're a spitfire and clever and a hell of a shot and you smell like vanilla and Daryl said you have a pretty smile."

Gwen smiled as the scruffy man's face darkened.

"And I like the way you do basic math," the Marine went on.

"I…thank you," Andrea said. "But what do you want?"

"I'm shocked," the man returned quickly. "Shocked and disappointed that you think we – okay, here's the thing. We want something to do…sitting around is not really our scene and if we have to, we might get the urge to run off like the fools we are to mess up the day for our girls."

"Well, I'd like to help you, Lieutenant, but I fuck up, remember?" Andrea said, walking off, back up the path.

Gwen hid her smile in a sniff of her nose.

The two men milled about.

"I regret saying that," the Marine said. His scruffy companion didn't reply, but shifted on his feet.

The men looked over and found her standing there, the tall one immediately smiling and holding out a hand. "Lafayette Vancoughnett the fourth," he greeted.

"Gwen Ryerson the first," she took his hand with a smile.

The scruffy man didn't shake, but he nodded friendly enough at her.

"Daryl Dixon," he said in a lovely, smoky tone.

"So, you're from Wyoming?" The Marine asked.

"No, Colorado, Ryan is from Wyoming."

"Ah, you…ah…I don't know much about Colorado," the man said. "Those your girls or his sisters?"

"Mine, that's Simone, the youngest and Phoebe."

"Very lovely girls, I have one myself, she's six," he explained.

"Really? That's an important age in development, has she been asking about sex yet?"

The man's smile faded. "She's only six."

"Hm, studies have shown that children are becoming more curious about sexuality at much earlier ages. The average age for a child to become fully aware of sex is ten or eleven now."

"Jesus."

"Mm, you seem unprepared."

"She's only six." He repeated almost nervously.

Gwen smiled and gave the man's upper arm a comforting rub, noticing right away the power his arm seemed to pack in the bicep area. "It's okay, we all have to have that talk with our children at some point."

"She has been…sharing this theory about kissing," the man confessed suddenly. "Ah, about how babies are made by it."

"She sounds like she's kind of on to the whole thing."

"Well, maybe she'll figure it out herself."

"You do have some years to prepare to explain it to her, I suppose," Gwen reassured him with a grin.

Ryan emerged from the water, moving over to join the conversation.

"So, Kowalski," the scruffy fellow, Daryl said. "That's your…brother?"

"Baby brother, yes."

"The last time we saw him was in Tennessee, he was running off in the opposite direction from us when we blew that shed up." The Marine said. "Don't know if he got out though, seems they came after us here, they might have gone after him too."

"What's with this Tennessee group, anyways?" Ryan demanded. "They giving you shit or what?"

"They're army," the Marine said. "They have a 'you're either with us or against us' way of recruiting soldiers."

"Ah, that's why they're after you?"

"I'm surprised they're not after you," Daryl said. "You must have passed through on your way down here."

"We did, but the only people we came across in Tennessee were roving women, three of them, they weren't military to my eye, at least. Friendly as hell though, took my damned pants."

"Your pants?"

"Don't ask me how," Ryan chuckled. "Hell of a thing." He cast Gwen a nervous look and she found herself suddenly interested in her girls swimming in the water with Carl and that other woman.

"You got lucky," the Lieutenant said.

"I wish you wouldn't put it quite like that," Ryan shot back.

"I mean not running into those men," the Marine elaborated as Gwen focused intensely on her daughters.

Moving away from the conversation, Gwen knelt by the waters. "Girls," she called out, "better come in now, we have to find some dinner before it gets dark! Carl, do you want to come help us?"

The young man nodded and started to follow her daughters in, while Gwen adjusted the rifle on her back impatiently.

"You know," she heard Ryan say behind her, "if you two are looking for something to do, we're about to head into Atlanta to look for some food."

"Atlanta?" Daryl demanded. "Whose idea was that?"

"Mine," Carl said.

Gwen turned back to the conversation.

"Think that's safe, Carl?" Daryl asked.

"Sure, the walkers are thinning out, Atlanta might have some food. Why not?"

Daryl shrugged.

"Couldn't hurt to try, I guess," the Lieutenant said.

Feeling Carl's ego needed a boost Gwen approached and smiled at Carl. "I think we'll make out pretty good in Atlanta."

Carl smiled up at her.

"Of course it's Carl's mission," Ryan pointed out, "so he'd be in charge."

Gwen couldn't miss the look of almost puppy dog gratitude Carl's eyes took on as he smiled at Ryan and she offered Ryan the same kind of admiring smile.

"Well, Carl, you think we can trust these people to back them up?" The Lieutenant asked.

Carl nodded.

"Good enough for us," Daryl said.

"You'll have our firepower at your backs, if you want it, Carl." The Lieutenant said, clapping the young man on the shoulder.

He shrugged. "Why not? We could use more guns. But I drive, okay?"

Ryan clapped Carl on the shoulder as they headed up the path after gathering their clothes from the banks of the water. "Uh, no, no you don't."

"Carl," Michonne called out from beside Gwen. "Think there's room for one more?"

The young man turned around to nod to her. "Sure, why not?"

Gwen smiled proudly at him as he flashed her a bright eyed look, before turning around and walking again. Since meeting with him, she hadn't seen him look so confident and healthy.

"What about me, little boss man?" Tyreese asked. "Can I come?"

"You can all come if you want, we might find more food that way," Carl asserted.

"Do you still want to see my boobs, Carl?" Simone asked suddenly.

"Simone!" Ryan barked sternly.

Gwen shook her head at her daughter. "Uh-uh, not until you're legal age."

"Mom," she argued. "They're just flaps of flesh on my chest. It's not like I'm going to flash him my vagina."

"Bats would probably fly out of it anyways," Phoebe muttered.

"Mom!"

"It's okay, baby, it's physically impossible to have bats live in your vagina," Gwen assured her baby girl.

"Not if it smells like something they'd want to kill and eat," Phoebe argued.

"Mom!"

"Phoebe," she warned.

The tall, handsome Marine moved up to stand beside her. "Are all girls like this when they get older?"

"Believe it or not some are much worse." She returned.

"God help us all," Ryan murmured from his place beside Carl.

"So, Carl," Daryl broke in, "what's the plans then?"

"Well," Carl began. "It's going to be dark in a few hours, I think we should find some food and settle in for the night, then scout out Atlanta in the morning."

"Alright, the Lieutenant and I'll head into the woods, see what we can find," Daryl said.

"We have some fishing gear in the suburban," Ryan volunteered. "If that boat on shore down there is any good, you might have better luck catching some trout or something."

"Ooh, grilled trout," Michonne purred. "We haven't had fish in a long time," she said in a tone that seemed sarcastic.

"We can split up," Daryl said. "Some of us try our luck down there and some in the forest. Who knows, Michonne, you might be chewing on a fat slab of grilled venison instead."

"Oh God, don't do that to me," Michonne returned. "I need some venison now."

"Better hope he's as good a shot as he likes people to think," the Lieutenant teased.

"Stop flapping that mouth, smart ass," Daryl warned.

"We'll set up a camp," Carl said, breaking up the fight smoothly. "Circle a few of the vehicles around it for protection, get some guards up on them as lookout."

"Sounds like a plan," Ryan stated.

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**********************************DarylDixon'sLover - I think those ladies will be just fine, they seem pretty tough.**

**********************************Brazen Hussy - Put those shootin' irons down, girl. They were a little upset, true, but give them time to cool down.**

**********************************Merle's Right Hand - Shut up! You love me! YOU LOVE ME AND MY CLASSLESS ASS!**

**********************************Claire Randall Fraser - Well, don't lose faith, Carl didn't get the whole sex talk yet. You never know, it might fall to a Dixon yet. Oh God, I hope it doesn't go to the Lieutenant. That wouldn't be right at all.**

**********************************vickih - I won't ruin anything for you about Kowalski (baby Kowalski) yet, but I will say this. I adore him. So...**

**********************************Pam - Poor Carl, he needs to just be a kid sometimes, I think. Actually, I think all of them need to just relax from time to time.**

**********************************Surplus Imagination - Haha! You noticed that Daryl knew about the underwear (or lack thereof) situation for the Lieutenant, eh? Figured you'd pick up on that. I thought, three months on the road alone together, I'm sure at some point something had to have happened. Men can be pretty open about things like that.**

**********************************ArcheryLefty - No skinny dipping around children, didn't you learn anything from the skinny dipping option in The Sims 3? But yeah, I agree, I would have liked to see someone go naked just for the hell of it.**

**********************************itsi3 - Daryl and the Lt definitely need a distraction or the temptation would be too great.**

**********************************Yazzy x - Thank you! I'm hoping they can all have a half decent adventure in Atlanta. Maybe find a shit ton of food for the convent.**


	20. Two Weeks Earlier

******************************************WARNING! This chapter contains seriously nasty, dirty, bad language! So...if you dislike that kind of stuff, I'd skip it. **___**  
**_

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**Chapter Twenty: Two Weeks Earlier**

****The Lieutenant****

It was raining heavily on the canvas army tent above their heads, outside it blurred the world beyond the open flaps as inside Daryl at a shaky card table, boots up, knife in hand, sharpening a length of tree branch into a bolt as the Lieutenant sat on the cot, reading a book and drinking coffee from a tin mug.

The young soldier who was serving them the coffee and food, moved about the tent like a mouse, shy and timid in their presence.

"What's your name again?" Fay demanded of the young woman.

"Katz, sir." She returned.

"Katz," he repeated. "And tell me Private Katz, are you serving us coffee and treats, because you're the only female soldier aside from the Colonel at this base or because you're just so damned good at making coffee?"

She smiled. "It's this man's army. You can only imagine, sir."

"You should have joined up with the Marines," he returned.

"Would they have treated me any better, sir?" She asked.

"No, but you would be better trained," he finished with a broad grin.

She smiled back and went about clearing a place to set down the plastic tray she was holding. "You two brought us that load of weapons from that manufacturing place up North just two days ago, didn't you?"

"We had the help of a few good men," Daryl snapped, still working hard on his bolt.

Fay chuckled, putting the book down and sitting up to address the woman. "So, tell me," he began, laying into the important work. "What's up with this place?"

"What do you mean, sir?" Katz asked.

"Come on, there's an inner circle around Barrie and it's kind of suspicious, isn't it?"

"They are her council, sir," Katz protested.

"Doesn't it bother you, Private, that a woman in uniform like her is running this place like it was her own personal playground, when a soldier like you, with no Y chromosome is relegated to serving us men? Didn't you train like a soldier? Shoot and fight like a soldier? And here she is, lounging, getting fat in her tent with her 'inner council'?"

"I…I don't understand, sir," she said.

"Lieutenant Vancoughnett?"

Both Daryl and the Lieutenant looked up as Captain Kochanski stepped into the tent.

"Forgive me for not waiting outside, but I don't want to risk pneumonia in this day and age."

"We wouldn't mind if you did, actually," Daryl greeted dryly.

The blonde, who was not looked on favourably by Daryl or the Lieutenant, though the latter was better at concealing it, smiled a charming, dimpled grin and bowed his head.

"Always, warm, aren't you, _Mister_ Dixon?"

"Suck my cock," Daryl grumbled.

"Captain, you're looking freshly washed today," the Lieutenant greeted, standing to his feet. "How time consuming that must have been for the Private who had to heat up the water."

"Well, it's excellent training for him," Kochanski returned jovially.

"In what way? Heat resistance? Weight training? Hell of a leader you are, Captain. I'd die for you."

"The Colonel wants to see you."

"Me? Why now? Didn't I score her a big get just the other day?"

"Believe me, Lieutenant, I would rather piss blood then have to deliver this message, but her orders are her orders."

Ignoring him for a moment, Fay turned to Daryl and said, "you know, _cabri_, I was thinking just the other day about how in the army—"

"Air Force," Kochanski corrected.

"In the _army_, men are trained to sit behind desks and file paperwork, but apparently in the Air Force, men are trained to deliver messages. Like…carrier pigeons, except dumber."

Daryl smirked.

"Dangerous _couyons_, _cabri_, dangerous damned _couyons_."

"And what do they train in the Marine Corps, Lieutenant? How to be insolent to superior officers?"

"Bring me a superior Marine and I'll show him a little respect, until then you get treated like the carrier pigeon you are. Lead on, pigeon," Fay said, sweeping his arms towards the open flap.

As they walked out into the rain, Fay heard Daryl coo like a pigeon, causing Kochanski to falter in his steps. Looking about, getting soaked, Fay shrugged. "Thought I heard you say something," he said to Kochanski at his side.

They wound their way through the little tent city, Fay still not sure just where they were heading, as he had only been to the Colonel's tent a handful of times and the city was so analogous. The same khaki green tent, after khaki green tent over and over, row upon row.

Stopping before two tents set up together to form a bigger one, they paused and Fay was about to head in, when he noticed Kochanski had no intentions of following him.

He tilted his head. "Not coming in, pigeon?"

"I hope an infected chews on your face," Kochanski murmured to him.

"Come on, now, pigeon, don't be nasty."

Curious about the death glare the man shot him, but deciding not to say anything, Fay stepped into the dim tent out of the rain.

At first, he didn't see anyone around, not a single sign of life.

"Lieutenant Vancoughnett?" Colonel Barrie called over a screen set up in the corner.

"That's the name stitched on my Marine issued drawers," he returned.

"I'll be right out, I'm changing," she returned.

"I was under the impression you were expecting me," he said, hopping onto a metal crate to wait.

"I was," she said, moving out from behind the screen. "But it's almost bed time and even military leaders need their sleep."

Fay stood up slowly from the crate at the sight of her.

She approached him in little less than a green scrap of lace and silk.

"I see," he said. "So?"

She moved past him for the tent flap, pulling them closed tighter, tying all five ties.

Not caring much for the scene she was setting, Fay moved to the corner of her tent furthest from her warily.

"You did a good job bringing us those weapons," she said, moving across the tent to her table, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "Coffee?"

"I'd rather not, it's late," he lied, sure the smell of coffee was still on his breath. "Little Marines need their sleep too."

She looked over her shoulder at him, eyes raking up and down his body. "You're not little."

"I…" he cleared his throat. "I used to be."

"Let me guess," she said, moving to perch on a chair like a queen taking her throne, coffee mug steaming in her hand, "you were one of those boys who was very small and frail?"

"Almost puny, yeah," he said.

She crossed her legs and he had the feeling she knew just how high her nightgown rose when she did so. Taking a calm sip of coffee, she eyed him with a predatorial glint over the rim of the ceramic mug.

"But you've certainly grown," she went on calmly.

"Alright, cut the bullshit, what do want?" He demanded.

"A little friendly conversation," she said. "I've never spoken to a Cajun before. I like the sound of your voice."

"Yeah? If that's the case, then find yourself a copy of James Carville reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, I'm not a puppet put here for your amusement."

"No, but you're better looking than James Carville."

"A catfish is better looking than James Carville, what's your point?"

"Come sit over here beside me, Lieutenant. I can't see you way over there in the shadows."

"I'm fine where I am."

"You're soaking wet," she argued, "the camp heater is over here. Come close to it and dry off."

"I'll take my chances with the white death," he stated. "Think she'd be kinder."

"Why do you dislike me so much, Lafayette?"

"You can call me 'Lieutenant', Colonel," he pointed out.

"You've been contentious with me since our very first meeting. Is it because I'm a woman?"

"Oh? You're a female, I didn't notice."

She leaned back in her throne and pulled her nightgown down more to show more breast. "Better?"

"No."

"You want more or less?"

"Colonel, there's only one pair of breasts in the world for me and they're not yours."

"Right," she said, getting up, leaving her coffee to steam on the crate by her throne. "Your…wife, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he said, not feeling like correcting her.

"She's a lucky woman."

"I like to think I'm the lucky one," he argued.

"Is she pretty?" Colonel Barrie asked, eyeing a shell wind chime that hung in the middle of her tent.

"Very."

"Smart?"

"More so than me."

"Does she suck your cock?"

Fay frowned at her bold words.

Colonel Barrie looked over her shoulder at him. "Never trust a woman who won't suck dick."

"My _Mamere_ would say never trust a woman with a dirty mouth like yours," he pointed out.

She laughed. "I've learned early on in my life, Lafayette, that men are easy to lead. They are basically like dog's you train. The treat you give them for good behaviour is always given on your knees and in return you have their undying loyalty."

"Huh, don't know if that's my thing, but…I'll pass it on Kochanski, he's pretty enough."

Colonel Barrie approached him and he didn't like the look in her eyes. "So? Does your wife suck your cock?"

"That's between her and I," he returned.

Reaching out, the woman touched her hand to his chest. "How would you like to give me your loyalty?" She purred.

He leaned in close to her face, licking his bottom lip. "Take it off or I'll break it off."

She tilted her head. "You wouldn't. You're an old fashioned type. A Southern gentleman through and through."

"I am," he said, gripping her wrist. "But my _Mamere_ always taught me that if a girl hits first, then everything that happens afterwards is fair game."

"I haven't hit you yet," she protested.

"I'm willing to lie." He tightened his grip. "Do you want a fast lesson on Marine self defense? Forty-three ways to break an arm?"

She raised her free hand to strike him and he caught that as well, tugging her hard to get her to listen to him.

"Put me in my place, you brute," she whispered almost breathlessly.

Fay cringed and released her with a shove. "Ugh, have you no sense of pride? I mean, goddamn, you're a female leader. A soldier with tits and you lead like this? You're not setting a fine example for your sex."

"I think I'm setting a damned fine example, men are dogs and look how many I have at my beck and call."

"You need Jesus in your life, darling." He murmured, moving away from her, heading for the secured tent flap.

"So she doesn't suck your dick then?" Colonel Barrie called out after him.

Fay turned back to face her, finally allowing his anger to take over a little. "She doesn't have to. All this tit or tat bullshit when it comes to sex, is just that, bullshit. If you love someone, it doesn't matter. It's not a tally or score you keep track of, who does what and what you owe them."

"You're pathetic," she stated.

He reached for his knife and eyed her up and down, quirking a brow. "I'm not the one in the lacy thing trying to get a cock in my mouth to gain power." He stated, slicing open the straps that secured him inside the tent with her. "And with all due respect, what you have over these men isn't power, its bribery. You're paying them for their loyalty, but when you can't give them that payment anymore, when your tits sag down to your knees and your throat collapses, they'll turn on you like the dogs they are. Now, you have yourself a good night, Colonel. Stay warm, it's a cold rain that's falling."

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"All of them?" Daryl demanded.

Fay paced up and down the tent later that night. "I don't know…Jesus I hope not. Shit, that'd be a hell of a line up to be in."

At Daryl's side, Kowalski asked silently for an explanation about what had Fay so wound up after his visit with the Colonel. He had been sitting there when the Lieutenant returned, playing honeymoon whist with Daryl, but now looked confused about everything.

He had only been there a week so far, but he kept close to them, somehow feeling unwanted and it was probably true, he was kept close to the base, used only as a glorified secretary taking inventory of the supplies they brought in.

Daryl made tits with his hands, big ones indicating the Colonel and then a dick sucking motion.

Kowalski's eyebrows shot up and he looked inquiringly at the Lieutenant.

"Okay…shit, she tried to violate me," Fay murmured, still pacing. "Fuck..."

"So? What now?"

"Okay, we have to get the hell out of here, all of us."

"What about Rhoades?" Daryl rasped.

"Fuck Rhoades, he goes to those inner council meetings, she's probably got to him. That explains why Kochanski doesn't like me…jealous little fucker knew what she was up to."

"You were kind of a dick to him from the start," Daryl pointed out in Kochanski's defense.

"Who do we know who has some influence and power, but not on her council?"

Daryl scribbled the question down for Kowalski to see and the young man thought about it for a minute, before making a cross with his fingers.

"Cross?" Fay demanded.

"Graves," Daryl clarified. "Sergeant Graves, supplies officer, I think."

"Think he can be trusted?"

Daryl wrote the question for Kowalski to read again and the young man nodded.

"Alright, good enough, if you trust him, Kowalski, we'll see what he can do. Maybe he can help us out somehow."

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The grass was still wet when they crept into Sergeant Graves' tent the next morning, long before the sun even thought of rising.

The man lay splayed on his bunk, holding a rifle and a whiskey bottle to his chest, several stamped out cigarette butts lay scattered around him.

Daryl, Fay and Kowalski stood over him, watching the man snore his way through the minutes, before Fay reached down and tapped him on the forehead.

"Fuck off, Henley," the Englishman rasped.

Fay tapped him again, but this time there was no response, so he used the back of his hand to tap the man hard in the nuts.

He shot up in his cot, rifle aimed at them, bottle clattering to the ground.

"That's a hell of a way to wake a man," he growled, tucking his rifle away when he recognized them as no immediate threat and reaching for a pack of stale cigarettes from a shaky table by his cot. Sniffing and horking up a loogie, he spat it into the ash tray and stood up.

"So? Who the fuck are you? I recognize the little one, but you two?"

"I'm Lieutenant Lafa—"

"I know your name, big man, what do you want? Why are you perving on me while I'm sleeping, do you get your jollies from smacking cock this early or what?"

"You're not American," Daryl growled.

"Very fucking astute. No, I was over here negotiating the buying up of tanks for training purposes and fuck me if I didn't end up in the thick of it. But you got me now, so whatcha gonna do with me? Fag?"

"What?" Daryl snarled darkly.

The man held his cigarette pack out to him and shook it.

Taking one for his mouth and another to tuck behind his ear, Daryl nodded his thanks and took the offered lighter.

"We have a few questions for you, Sergeant."

Opening a fresh bottle of whiskey, the man shrugged. "Alright."

"Why aren't you a member of the inner council?" Fay demanded.

"Why do you ask?" The man demanded. He wasn't very big, but he gave off a fairly commanding presence.

"Curiosity."

Peering around the Lieutenant at Kowalski, Sergeant Graves exhaled slowly and shrugged. "What do they say about cats and curiosity? Flattens them on the road like a pancake. You're going to have to be a little more forthcoming, I'm hung over and hungry, not a good combination."

Fay pulled out a slender packet of beef jerky and offered it to the man. "Has the Colonel ever been…friendly with you?"

Sergeant Graves took the jerky with a grin. "What colour teddy was she wearing? The white or the blue?"

"It was green," Fay said, knowing exactly what he was asking.

The man nodded and tore into the jerky, his cigarette perched gracefully between his fingers. "Yeah, first time with me, it was blue. But I turned her down flat. Told her be on her bike, like. Second time, she wore white, maybe she thought it'd appeal to me or something, show her angelic side," he chuckled.

"Why did you turn her down?"

"Why'd you?" Sergeant Graves tucked his cigarette and the jerky into his mouth and let them both dangle, fumbling into his pocket and producing a wallet and photograph. "Caitlyn," he mumbled around the things in his mouth, pointing to a pretty woman, "and Janey," he pointed to a three year old girl. "I'll never see them again," he tucked his wallet back into his pocket. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to fuck some strange woman. The Guess Who was right, American woman can sparkle someone else's eyes." He hopped onto a nearby stack of crates and wobbled there precariously for a bit, taking a long swig of whiskey, offering it to the other men.

Everyone took a swig.

"You poor bastards have no clue what the fuck is going on around here, do you?" Graves demanded.

"Enlighten us," Daryl said, handing back the bottle.

"That inner circle of hers isn't loyal to her because she fucks them, she's not that nasty."

"Then?"

"They're her husbands."

Fay and Daryl both dropped their jaws a little and Kowalski, not following the conversation, mimicked them, but still looked confused.

"There's five of them, isn't there?" The Lieutenant demanded.

"Seven," Graves returned with a smirk.

"Don't they fight?" Daryl demanded. "Do they know?"

"Oh yeah," Graves said. "They know and they bitch and snipe at each other, sometimes there's one hell of a good fight breaks out, but mostly they keep their heads down and their opinions to themselves."

"You're telling me that she has a harem of military men at her fingertips?"

"And you were almost number eight," Graves pointed out. "Think of it, she could have had the cum from the last man inside her when you stuck it in."

"Why is it every group we come across, _cabri_, is fucked up in some way?" The Lieutenant demanded of Daryl. "I had high hopes for this one, it was led by a woman. I was thinking peace and prosperity."

"It's a fucked up world," Graves mused. "So what do you want to do with it?"

"We want to get home," Daryl said. "To our girls."

Graves eyed them both. "Now you're tugging my heartstrings." He slipped down from the crates. "Alright, I'll tell you what. Give me a few days to think this over. See what I can do. I don't hold any power here, so I can't get you pardoned completely, but I might be able to get you out."

"Kowalski thinks you can be trusted," Fay murmured. "I hope to God he's right."

"I can't say anything to assure you," Graves said. "But just know if I had the chance to get home to my girls, I'd take it. I'll try to help you boys, at least."

"Thank you," Fay said, holding out his hand.

Graves took it and shook hard. "Stay out the limelight for a few days, I'll get back to you."

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**************************************Claire Randall Fraser - I kind of enjoyed her making them squirm a little too. Those boys don't squirm enough. LOL! I wrote a oneshot on tumblr about that...only he was asking the Lt about some taco advice...**

**************************************itsi3 - I've been wondering about him too. I bet he's a real damned devil.**

**************************************Guest (who I'm assuming is Merle's Right Hand but she forgot to log in like a dope) - Dude, log in. You're so lame. ^_^**

**************************************Brazen Hussy - Merle would be fast and furious. Like hold on to your hat, because this shit is happening and it's hot!**

**************************************Pam - I agree. All work and no play is what's turning Rick into a bit of a nutbar on the show.**

**************************************vickih - The Lt can do better at sucking up, I think. He failed poorly, in my opinion. ^_^**


	21. Iced Tea

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**Chapter Twenty-One: Iced Tea**

****Carol****

The heavily tree laden driveway into the plantation was beautiful under the sunlight, as the Spanish moss in the limbs of the oaks cast lacy light onto the dirt trail, the specks of light rolling over the dull hood off the old truck.

It was truly a beautiful place, despite knowing the past and even Cash's eyes seemed to light up at the sight of the farmyard as they rolled to a stop in the middle of it.

"Have you ever seen anyplace so beautiful?" Carol asked Grace as the two women moved to stand in front of the truck.

"Aside from my convent?" Grace teased. "Hm, yes, I grew up in a place like this."

At Carol's shocked look, Grace chuckled softly. "I had four brothers, we needed a big house or we'd all go insane. We moved," she added as they got started, heading for some thick, tall grass that edged the farmyard, "when my father died. My biological father."

"How'd he pass? May I ask?" Carol inquired as they began plucking the tall grass, gathering some for food for the pigs as Cash moved to the well across the yard to draw water for them.

"Car accident," Grace paused long enough to draw her tight under sleeve over the bell-like over sleeve of her tunic.

It amazed Carol how easily the woman did it, before the remembered that Grace had spent most of her adult life in a habit and had gotten used to the little tricks and tips of wearing one.

She followed suit with Grace, tucking the sleeves up and away from her hands, giving her more mobility.

"I'm sorry."

Grace shrugged. "I look at it like a life lesson. Never forget to tell the one you love that you do love them."

"Except for the Lieutenant, when it's encouragement," Carol teased.

The other woman's work faltered and she glanced over and up at Carol. For a moment, Carol saw a strange, almost frightened look flutter across the woman's face, before it relaxed again and Grace returned to their work.

"Do you think I'm too hard on him?" Grace asked after a few minutes of silence.

"I think," Carol began slowly, forming the words properly before just jumping in, "you keep him grounded, but I also think…well, you're not used to relationships like the one you have with the Lieutenant."

"I am hard on him, aren't I?" Grace insisted.

"Maybe a little more affection?"

Grace shrugged. "I'll let the swamp giant paw me more, maybe," she teased.

Gathering up the large pile that was accumulating to keep it neat, Carol cleared her throat. "Grace?" She asked tentatively.

"Hm?"

"I heard…Sasha said once that…about tall men and their proportions…?"

Grace straightened her spine and eyed Carol with a small, cat-like grin. "You mean, about the size of their feet?"

"Yes," Carol breathed, grateful she didn't have to spell it out for the woman.

"Ten," Grace murmured, bending back to her work.

"Inches?" Carol demanded.

Grace straightened again, frowning. "What?"

"What?" Carol returned.

"His boot size is a ten," Grace quirked a brow at her. "What were you thinking I was talking about?"

"Nothing," Carol bent to their work, with an embarrassed grin hidden beneath her lowered face.

"Carol!" Grace declared suddenly after a few minutes of quiet work.

"I just heard things around the convent!" She protested.

Grace reached out and playfully slapped her on the arm. "You're horrible! What kind of dirty things have people been discussing at my convent?" She covered her mouth with shocked hands and stared long and hard at Carol, pink dusting her cheeks. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," she said after a moment.

"Grace!"

"You started it!"

The two women ducked their heads back to work as Cash approached.

"I didn't know rhubarb was a perennial," Grace covered quickly.

"Hm, yes, ah, you can stew it and throw a little sugar on top, make it into a simple dessert."

Cash eyed them quickly. "I watered the pigs. Think I'll take a peek in the woods for signs of threats, maybe Christian a tree." He eyed first Carol, then Grace, before smirking. "Six, in case you're curious."

"You'd better be talking about your IQ, Mr. Cash, I swear to the good Lord," Grace scolded. "Go on, now!" She dismissed him like a harried mother shooing her child.

Cash beamed and sauntered off.

The two women worked in silence for several minutes, before gathering up their grass into their arms.

"Does he hold you, Daryl?" Grace asked as they moved towards the barn. "I mean, afterwards?"

"He's actually pretty good at that," Carol said. "Does the Lieutenant?"

"You mean the one night we've had?"

"You haven't…since he came back, I mean?"

"No."

"So? Just the once?"

"Just the one night, yes."

"How many times that night?"

"Intercourse or finishing the race?" Grace inquired, unloading her burden into the pen with the pigs.

"Intercourse?"

The woman shyly held up three fingers.

"And orgasms?"

Grace added her pinkie and thumb to the three already up.

"Five?!" Carol demanded, lowering her voice when she realized how loud that declaration was.

"Isn't that normal?"

"If you're in marathon."

Grace flushed brightly. "Is that dirty? I mean, wicked?"

"No," Carol pointed out. "That's pretty good, actually."

"Well, no, it wasn't. I was sore as hell in the morning and bred like a mare in season."

"You probably got treated like a mare in season," Carol murmured.

"Carol! Your mouth!" Grace protested.

"I'm not the one who finished five races in one night," Carol argued with a laugh.

They walked back out into the yard for more grass.

"How many times in one night have you…with Daryl? I mean, the most?"

"Three."

"See? Five's not so bad. Was it good? I mean, I know he's a little inexperienced, but I always imagined him to be a little rough and manhandle you a bit? Is he like that?"

"Grace, I'm shocked," Carol stated with a sly grin.

The other woman blushed.

"He is rough," Carol admitted as they stooped to pick more grass. "But…in a good way. With Daryl you never forget that he's a man. He's rough all over, chest hair and callouses, but he's mindful about hurting me, which I kind of like. Rough, but gentle, if that makes sense?"

"It's sound delightful," Grace whispered.

"What about the Lieutenant?"

"Oh, he's…well, because I'm so tiny and he's a swamp giant, I guess he manhandles me quite a bit, but…I like it. He tosses me onto the bed like he means it. And he's definitely a force, you feel that power, but he's like a stallion restrained by a leather tether."

"Hm," Carol mused, ducking her head to their work. "I wonder what he'd be like if that tether ever broke?"

"Carol, don't think about him like that!" Grace giggled like a schoolgirl.

Carol laughed jovially. "I'm just saying…wonder what that tether's holding back."

"I'm not sure I'm the woman to find out," Grace admitted. "Don't know if I'm ready."

"Hm, maybe that's why he's tethered it," Carol pointed out. "He'll spring it on you when you're ready."

"Oh God…could it be something weird?" Grace asked. "Like…dirty?"

"I don't think you need to worry about it being anything nasty," Carol pointed out, trying to calm Grace. "Maybe it's just that he's not using his full force and might be restraining his strength with you."

"Oh Lord, what if he's a sodomite? What if he wants to sodomize me?"

"Grace!" Carol declared. She felt she could declare that loud enough.

"I'm just saying…what if it's bad, bad?"

Covering her face to contain the laughter she felt might be mocking towards the ex-nun, Carol huffed and puffed to get it under control. It amazed her that the woman was older than her by three years and still so innocent when it came to sex.

"The Lieutenant is not a sodomite, Grace," Carol said finally.

"Well, now you don't know that," Grace argued lightly, smirking a little.

The two women laughed.

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They were driving up Delgado's drive with the blue rag fluttering on their antenna.

Carol figured he might know where some soldiers could be found, seemed Delgado's people were good at keeping their ears to the ground.

As they pulled down the trail leading to Delgado's doorstep, they passed Sid who sat in the saddle of one of his beautiful white horses, watching them drive by with his rifle resting over his shoulder like it was a shovel.

Grace waved to him as they passed and he nodded back.

"That man is fine as a motherfucker," Cash murmured.

When both Carol and Grace looked at him, he smiled and asked, "what? We're not doing the girl talk thing anymore?"

"He's your type, Cash?" Carol asked, pulling the truck to a stop.

"Sure, if I were gay, I'd be all over that pretty boy."

"You're a strange man," Grace teased, hopping out of the truck.

"I'm okay with that, keeps people on their feet," Cash returned, following her out of the truck as Delgado emerged from where he was standing guard in the barn.

"Well," he greeted with a broad grin. "The Queens of the Convent, we never get blessed with you here."

"It's a special occasion," Carol said, hugging the large man back as he swept her up into his arms.

He gave Grace the same warm hug and clapped a friendly hand on Cash's shoulder.

"Come inside, we'll feed you."

"You're really too kind, Delgado, but we're not here to eat your food."

"Business, hm? Come inside," he urged. "At least let us pour coffee and tea down your throats."

The three of them followed Delgado into the house, passing Mrs. Hollander who gave them all a hug. Her husband had passed away just a month before from natural causes and Grace and the other nuns had gone to clean and prepare his body, Carol had gone with them and the old woman had since been eternally grateful to them for it.

"How are you?" She asked them as they entered the farmhouse.

"We've been better," Grace admitted.

"You run into some military?" Delgado asked as they settled.

"That's what we came to ask you?"

"Eve and Pace came across a couple one day, trapped in our minefield, told them if they didn't move on they'd put some lead in their asses. Seems they're recruiting," Delgado said.

"We know," Carol said. "They're after Daryl and the Lieutenant."

"After as in…?"

"They didn't say exactly about the Lieutenant, but they want Daryl dead."

Delgado sat back in his chair and sighed. "Why?"

"Think our boys caused a little mischief for them," Grace pointed out.

Delgado grinned. "Yeah, I believe that. Okay, so what can we do for you?"

"We were just hoping you knew where they could be found. We want to negotiate with their leader." Carol said.

"We don't go too far from home anymore," Delgado said, quirking a brow. "Sorry."

"It's fine," she assured him. "We weren't expecting you to know, we were just hopeful."

"Look," Delgado said. "It's going to be dark soon, why don't you three stay the night here and at least let us do that for you."

"I hear angels," Charon cooed from the doorway, wandering in on his old, shaky legs. "Must come from a holy place."

"Mr. Reed," Carol greeted warmly, standing up for him to take her chair as it was nearest the door. "How are you?"

"Fine, just fine, any better and I'd be dead," he grinned. "Don't give up your chair, I'm fine standing."

"Please?" Carol insisted, helping him to sit.

"I get treated better by angels then Marines," the old man stated.

"You said you didn't want special treatment, old man," Delgado said with something of adoration in his eyes for the man.

"Well, a little now and then doesn't spoil a man," Charon said with a wink. "How's my Adele and her girl?"

"They're just fine," Grace said, moving to sit close to the old man.

"I hear extra rustling, whatcha girls wearing?" Charon demanded.

"Habits," Grace explained.

"Yeah? Why are you decked out like a couple of penguins for, girl?"

"People hesitate to shoot nuns," Carol explained.

"Fair enough."

"Where's the other women?" Cash asked from where he sat near the door.

"In the garden, picking weeds, want to help out, young man?"

"Sorry, bodyguard duty," Cash returned.

"Um-hm," Charon frowned a little. "So? What brings here?"

"Trouble."

"For who?"

"Our men."

"All of them? Or just _your_ boys?"

"Our boys," Carol pointed out politely.

Charon nodded. "Never really met them. They troublemakers?"

"Not intentionally," Carol explained.

"The Cajun is," Grace added. "But not in this instance."

"Hm," Charon grunted. "That Cajun boy sounds about right, this other boy, what's his name?"

"Daryl," Carol said.

"Um, Daryl, is he quiet?"

"Yes. How'd you guess?"

"It's always the quiet ones that are troublemakers," Charon teased. "Is he scrappy?"

Carol smiled. "I guess you could say that."

"Um, sounds like my kind of person, I should like to meet him. You bring him by when you get things settled, yeah?"

Carol nodded. "I will."

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"I don't care of it rains or freezes, as long as I got my plastic Jesus, sitting on the dashboard of my car. Comes in colours pink and pleasant, glows in the dark 'cuz it's iridescent…"

They were sitting out on the front porch of the Hollander's house, sipping iced tea and watching the growing twilight, listening to Cash sing softly to the children of Delgado's group, idly strumming away at a guitar someone had produced from the attic.

"Take it with you, when you travel far," he went on. "Get yourself a sweet Madonna, dressed in rhinestones sitting on a pedestal of abalone shell. Going ninety, ah, ain't scary, 'cuz I got the Virgin Mary assuring me that I won't go to hell."

Eve's two girls started singing along, but broke off at the sound of a vehicle pulling up the drive, out of the growing darkness and the sound of hooves flying over the grass.

Carol and Grace stood up, reaching for their rifles, as a heavy looking SUV ground to a halt in the middle of the barnyard, spraying gravel and dust up over the ass end of it.

Sid rode up hard to the steps on his horse. "D! We have visitors! Get some damned bandages!"

Two people hopped out of the front of the SUV and approached the back in a rush, pulling what looked like a limp body from within it.

Carol and Grace approached curiously, thinking it was Delgado's people.

As they drew nearer and the figures approached them in a hurry, they found they didn't recognize the man nor the woman with him, but they did recognize the limp form they were dragging. At least under the heavy bruises and bloodied features, they recognized him.

"Kowalski," Carol breathed as the man and woman paraded by them, leaving her and Grace standing there in shock.

"Which one of you is Delgado?" The man hauling Kowalski barked in a funny accent as he approached the porch.

Delgado emerged from the house and upon laying eyes on Kowalski, said, "I am," and moved forward to help them with their burden.

"We've been looking all over for you, that boy only pointed in a bloodied circle on the damned map we showed him," the man said.

Carol and Grace finally snapped out of their shock, moving to help Kowalski into the house as well. Seemed everywhere Carol touched the poor boy, her hand came away with blood.

"Who did this to him?" She demanded of the two carrying him.

The woman blinked, but said nothing, instead looking nervously at the man.

He quirked and brow as he eased Kowalski onto the sofa, but said nothing.

"Who are you?" Mrs. Hollander demanded, pushing them aside to get at Kowalski.

"Sergeant Graves," the man said.

"Military?" Carol asked, reaching for her rifle.

The man looked her up and down, before calmly reaching into his pocket and producing a pack of cigarettes. "Ah, you've met us before, have you?"

"This boys jaw is broken!" Mrs. Hollander shouted. "He's beaten up bad."

"Yeah, we found him like this."

"Where?" Carol asked.

"Just outside the fence to a little army camp in Tennessee," the woman finally said, holding out her hand politely. "Private Katz."

Carol and Grace eyed the hand, only Delgado stepped forward and took it.

"I'll run back to the convent," Carol said. "Bring back St. James."

"I'll go," Grace said. "I'll take Cash with me, just in case."

The former nun gripped her hand gently on her way by and Carol didn't miss how even Grace had blood on her hand from Kowalski.

The poor young man looked like ground beef lying on the sofa, his chest heaving, his breathing wild and her heart sank for him, she eased down by his head and gently touched his forehead.

He flinched, unable to see out of his swollen eyes and she felt tears sting her eyes.

Kneeling at his head, Carol continued to gently stroke his temple, hoping to calm him. He must be terrified, she figured, unable to hear or see.

What she didn't know was that he recognized her scent, all she knew was that he soon calmed his trembling and eased his terrified heart.

Mrs. Hollander and Dolly did what they could for him, gently bandaging the wounds they could, stitching the rest.

"Who did this?" Delgado demanded, gripping the military man hard.

"We used to belong to a group," Katz began.

"Your people?" Carol asked. "The military group from Tennessee?"

Both Katz and Graves looked over at her.

"We left them," Katz admitted almost remorsefully. "I didn't sign up for this."

"Is this what they do to people they capture?" Carol asked. "Beat them up and leave them to die?"

"No," Graves said. "They hang them, this little fellow got lucky."

"You call this lucky?" Mrs. Hollander snapped.

"He's alive, ain't he?"

"Barely."

"Charlie!" Someone shouted from the doorway.

Mae breezed into the room, avoiding Delgado who made to reach for her and stop her approach to the Marine on the sofa. She skidded onto her knees beside the sofa with wide, worried eyes. "Charlie?" She breathed against his battered face.

"Grace went for St. James," Carol assured the girl. "Kowalski will be just fine."

"Poor little bastard," Graves murmured, "he put up a hell of a fight."

"He's not gone yet!" Dolly snapped.

"Mae, you're going to have to move, honey," Mrs. Hollander said. "So we can help him."

Mae frowned and Carol could see how hard it was for the girl to leave, but eventually she leaned down and kissed Kowalski on the one spot on his face that wasn't bloodied or bruised and moved back, kneeling beside Carol at the top of his head.

Carol reached over with her free arm and pulled Mae against her comfortingly. She looked over at the two strangers, trying to read them, but got nothing but a slightly fearful look from the woman and a shaken look from the man.

Slowly they backed away from the sofa and she spied them heading for the door.

Releasing Mae, Carol stood up and followed them, hoping to catch up with them. She caught them on the porch and stopped the woman with a polite hand on her arm.

"Wait!"

The two turned to face her.

"Where's this base?" She asked.

"Why?" The woman asked.

"I need to talk to your leader, uh, the leader."

"Why?" The man asked.

"Because she's after two of our people, I don't want them ending up this way."

The man looked to the woman, who shifted on her feet.

"You mean Lieutenant Vancoughnett and Daryl?" The woman asked.

"Yes."

Again the two soldiers looked at each other.

"Look," the woman began, "none of the military personnel wants to hurt either of them. They have a lot of respect from a lot of us, but…they have their orders."

"Don't let them get caught," the man said.

"I want to talk to your leader," she said.

"Yeah? I wouldn't, she's nasty."

"And she wouldn't listen anyways, she wants them dead," Katz pointed out.

"Find yourself Rhoades," Graves suggested. "He can help you better than her. He likes your boys and the men listen to him"

"Where can I find him?"

Neither one seemed to know, both shrugged.

"But if you can find him, he's the one I'd trust best," Katz stated.

"Good luck," Graves added. "I hope that boy pulls through."

"Wait," Carol repeated. "Where are you going?"

"Oh," Graves said. "I thought we'd hit up to Canada, maybe."

Katz looked at him curiously.

"It's like a rugged England with more moose and maple syrup, you'll like it."

Carol frowned. "Is there anything else I should know? About this leader of yours?"

"She's on very thin ice with the men," Graves said. "If you can talk to Rhoades, if you can get the men behind you, behind your boys, you might have a better chance against her. But watch out for any officer who isn't Rhoades, they're not your friends."

Carol stepped back from them and nodded.

"You see those boys, tell them we said 'hi'," Katz said. "They're nice men."

"Good luck," Carol said, letting the two of them move off into the darkness, heading for their SUV.

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**************************************DarylDixon'sLover - Me too!**

**************************************georgiapeachs - Yeah, that many husbands would drive a normal woman insane (I don't know how certain religions do it with wives).**

**************************************vickih - I know, right? How can people even stand being married to one spouse, never mind seven?**

**************************************Merle's Right Hand - Oh, babes, you make me laugh.**

**************************************Brazen Hussy - Ehehe.**

**************************************itsi3 - Or maybe the ladies can hunt down the husbands? ^_^  
**

**************************************Pam - Right, my friend, but who wouldn't want a Fay of their own?**

**************************************Claire Randall Fraser - I kind of want to see the fight that'll come from those two women butting heads.**

**************************************Ashley - Well, hello! Thanks for the review! It was so sweet! You must be a wonderful and beautiful person! ^_^ I'm glad you enjoy this series so much, people like you are the only reason I keep writing it!**

**************************************Lilone1776 - I don't think even Merle would want that woman, he'd probably outright call her something nasty and storm off like a true Dixon.**

**************************************Yazzy x - I agree. Grace would put her vow of peace aside and kick some serious ass. Her and Carol can tag team.**

**************************************Surplus Imagination - Even though you reviewed a chapter behind, I'll put this right here, because I know you keep up with my updates anyways. HOLY HELL DD'S?! How did you stay upright? I would have been stooped over like an old man carrying that kind of weight around! Kudos!**


	22. Okra

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**Chapter Twenty-Two: Okra  
**

****Merle****

By the time he returned to the convent with Rick, he was exhausted, their search turned nothing up.

If those military assholes were on the loose in Georgia, they were on the move, had no base that neither Merle or Rick could find.

Slumped into a corner of the wolves den, one arm thrown over his eyes to keep the sunlight out long enough for him to catch a few Z's, Merle snored lightly, waking only when he felt something tugging at his blade.

He flailed his good hand at whatever was tugging on him, rolling over.

The tugging continued and he finally woke up, glaring darkly at Mary Agnes who was kneeling there at his side, trying to remove his blade.

"What the hell, sister?" He demanded.

"You don't need to wear it in your sleep," she argued. "Let your raw forearm get some rest."

Merle watched the woman struggle with removing his prosthetic, quietly enjoying her struggle face as she scrunched up her mouth and nose. Idly reaching up to tuck some of her long, brown hair out of her face, behind her ear, he grinned as she huffed and sat back on her haunches.

"You're not going to help me at all, are you?"

"No," he replied.

She looked about them at the wolves den and he could see that growing realization in her eyes that she never actually looked at the wall above his head before.

"Good Lord, Mr. Dixon! You have fully naked women on your wall!"

He beamed, reaching up to stroke one in particular. "Yeah, I call this one Cindy."

"She's not wearing a scrap of clothing!"

"Hm," he eyed the picture thoughtfully. "I think she kind of looks like you."

Tsking, then gasping in rapid succession, Mary Agnes reached over for the magazine clipping and tried to remove it from the wall, stopped by Merle's quick hand, snaking out and grabbing her by the wrist, restraining her arm.

"What's your name, girl?" He asked as the woman struggled for a bit, before giving up.

"Agnes," she replied.

"I know, but…your real name?"

"Agnes."

He cringed. "Jesus, your parents hate you or something?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, _Merle_, it is a funny name isn't it, _Merle_?"

"Hey, there's been some kick ass Merle's in this world, honey. How many kick ass Agnes' out there?"

"Agnes Moorehead," she pointed out.

He blinked at her. "I don't even know who that is."

At her sly grin, he squinted up at the woman. "You're bullshitting me."

She laughed and leaned in real close to him. "I'll tell you what, Mr. Dixon, you help me get this blade off and I'll tell you my real name. Fair?"

"Fair," he said, holding his arm up for her, unbuckling it with his good hand while she tugged with both of hers.

Setting it aside, not wanting to admit it did feel good to be free of it, Merle sighed and looked up at the nun as she placed a gentle hand to the middle of his chest and leaned in real close to him, whispering in his ear like it was some great secret.

"Really?" He demanded. "That's almost worse."

Tsking, she pulled back, a disappointed look on her face.

Sliding an arm around her waist, he pulled in tight against him. "But," he smoothed over, "I think I remember Marilyn Monroe's real name was Norma Jean."

The nun, Norma Jean, to him now, smiled almost coyly, her warm milk chocolate eyes shone at him and it made him feel something he hadn't in a long time. Well, other than aroused. He felt loved and it kind of filled him, gave him a peaceful feeling to his hectic heart.

He didn't care that she was as old as him, that she was curvy instead of petite, that her nose was kind of hooked a little. All that seemed to matter was that look she was giving him.

Merle wanted to kiss her, he did, but…maybe he still felt a little bad about kissing a nun.

She made the decision for him, leaning down and kissing him chastely on the mouth, lips soft, but proper against his.

When she pulled back to gauge his reaction, Merle felt real fear shoot straight down his spine. The woman could easily destroy him. His foundations were shaken badly and all she did was kiss him.

Settling her back against his chest, tucking herself up against him sweetly, the woman bumped her head under his chin and sighed lightly.

Merle wrapped his arms around her tight and tried hard to even his heartbeat, if she felt how wildly it skittered against his ribs she wouldn't think much of his machismo.

"Those girly pictures will have to come down if you want me to visit here more often." She said after a moment. "They don't compare to the real thing."

Smiling slyly, feeling the old Dixon rogue returning, Merle leaned his face down beside hers and whispered. "I might need a refresher on the real thing, it's been a while."

She laughed, lightly smacking his forearm as it rest around her middle. "Behave yourself, Mr. Dixon."

He was about to continue his smooth flirtation, when the sounds of yelling from outside the shed caught his attention and he grudgingly unwound himself from his nun, moving to the open door to peer out at the night.

In the light of the convent yard, he spied Rick chasing after Grace and Cash as they moved with a determined pace towards the dormitory.

"I'll be right back," he said distractedly to Norma Jean. "Take, uh, take those pictures down for me. Would you?" He didn't wait for her to reply, hurrying out into the night to cut Grace and Cash off before they reached the dormitory.

"What do you mean in a terrible way?" Rick demanded, trailing after them like a dog at his master's heels.

"I mean, Rick, that without St. James, that poor unfortunate boy could very well die," Grace replied.

"Where the hell have you and Carol been?!" Merle demanded gruffly as he reached the woman, just before she stepped into the dorms.

"Merle, please, not now," she urged.

He stuck his stumped arm out, barring her path into the dorms. "You can't just run off like that on us! We don't need everyone spread out to the four corners!"

Grace looked him up and down, before ducking under his arm.

Merle hesitated, before cursing and trying to follow her, joining Rick.

Cash moved into the doorway and took up the whole of it.

"Uh-uh," the blond warned. "Let her go."

Merle and Rick both looked the little shit up and down, before Merle reached out his good hand and tried to shove the man backwards into the dorms.

Cash clung hard to the doorframe. "Nope, leave her be, she's on a mission."

"What's going on, Cash?" Rick snapped.

"Um, you kind of know. We left and now shit's getting real, that's…that's about it. Oh! Uh, apparently Daryl and the Lieutenant are good in bed, but that's…that's it. Really. That's what you missed."

"You have no goddamned brains letting those women go out in their condition," Merle growled.

"Uh, well that…that kind of hurts my feelings, Merle. I like to think I did a good job watching over them."

Grace returned with St. James and Mrs. Douglas, and Cash moved for them, keeping himself between her and Rick and Merle as they moved across the lawns, heading for the infirmary.

"What do you think you're doing?" Rick barked.

"We're getting some supplies," St. James said. "Seems that boy sounds like he's all kinds of fucked up."

"No! Those are our supplies!" Rick argued. "We need those, not Delgado's man, let Del—"

"Rick!" Grace spun on him, snapping hard and furious. "Delgado's people are our allies in this hell the world has become, I don't care if they're not our people to you! They are ours to me!"

"And what if your baby needs those supplies when it's born?!" Rick growled.

"That boy is somebody's baby too, Rick!"

"Um-hm, you go girl!" Cash declared.

"I swear to God, Cash, I will knock you on your ass!" Rick shouted.

"You touch him and I will knock you on yours, Mr. Grimes!" Grace shouted back.

Merle stopped short from pursuing the woman. It had become a shitshow fast and he didn't want any part of it anymore. He still watched, however, as Rick followed Grace as far as the infirmary, before she ducked inside with her flock of followers.

"She's getting some spunk," Glenn murmured from his left as he joined Merle under the peach tree.

"That would be why she's knocked up now," Merle pointed out.

Even in the dark, Merle could see Glenn flush a little. "You know…I meant…some…you know. Balls."

"Yeah, she probably got those too."

Glenn shook his head. "Never mind."

They stood there quietly for a moment.

"Why's Rick so upset anyways?" Glenn asked. "It's not really a big deal if people come and go, is it?"

"He doesn't like being left out of the action," Merle returned.

"Really?" Glenn demanded. "Because I love not getting shot at."

Scoffing, Merle stepped away from the peach tree, heading for the shed where Mary Agnes was emerging.

"What's going on?" She demanded.

"Help me get my blade back on," he replied.

If he was quick enough, he could sneak himself into the back of the truck without anyone arguing, instead of shouting at Grace like Rick, he'd actually try to help the woman.

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****Daryl****

The stars were fading in and out of sight above him, as clouds passed overhead.

In the sticky summer night heat of Georgia, Daryl lay on his back on the top of the truck that brought them to the quarry, one hand behind his head, the other resting on his stomach, his crossbow never far from reach.

Beside him Fay was sitting with his legs dangling over the side of the truck, idly cleaning his rifle.

Drawing constellations with his mind, painting them among the stars, Daryl sighed into the darkness and thought of the convent. He missed it, which was odd. He had never laid his head at a place he missed before.

But he had missed while on the road and he missed it now.

When this was all over and done, he'd go back and rest there forever. Nothing would move him from the little shed he shared with Carol and those white Cherokee roses he planted along the Eastern side of it.

Maybe he'd add a room onto the shed, a little bedroom so that they had more privacy.

Well, maybe he'd have to add on a nursery for the kid.

He smiled a little at this thought, but it was tentative. Knowing hope and how it was such a bitch to him, he didn't want to put all his eggs in one basket. Wondering if the Lieutenant had such plans for his upcoming kid, Daryl angled his head and squinted at the man's back in the night.

Fay sat quietly – for once – cleaning his rifle, his hands busy, his head bent to his work.

They had found some sad ducks near the banks of the quarry which filled their stomachs enough and Daryl had hunted up some wild okra, but it wasn't the best meal and both men had forgone their share for the others to get a good meal in, worried more about the young ones than themselves.

"Hey, _cabri_," Fay murmured softly.

"What?"

"Midnight movement," the Lieutenant jerked his chin towards that Gwen woman who was leaving the suburban they came in, heading across the camp for Kowalski's brother who was standing on watch on top of an abandoned car.

Daryl propped up on his elbow's to watch, squinting hard in the darkness to make out the woman's movement.

"Think they're," Fay let out a low, funny whistle to indicate sex.

"Naw," Daryl laid back down.

"I don't know, they seem pretty chummy."

"Don't mean anything."

"I've been thinking of some good names," Fay said.

"For what?"

"_L'enfant_. The baby."

"As long as it's not another goddamned Fay, because I will call that little asshole Five and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

"Then I won't tell you about the boy's names," Fay stated with a small, playfully huff.

"Alright, so?"

"Well, for girl's I was thinking Rene, maybe, I went to school with this cute girl named Rene Marchand and she used to jump rope at noon in the schoolyard. Had these freckles all over and her hair was cut into a bob. She was the cutest thing. Think Rene is a good girl's name."

"Yeah? You try to look up her skirt?"

"No, gave her a frog and she kissed me."

"Any woman willing to touch you is a keeper."

"Don't I know it? What about you? You think of any good names?"

"Nope. Never named anything in my life."

"Except that dog of yours."

"Carol named it and it's not my damned dog, it's hers."

Fay snorted. "Yeah, that's why the grey horse follows _you_ around."

"Maybe if I have a son I'll name it Fate Five just to piss on your parade," Daryl mused. "Mine'll be born first."

"What if I also have a son and name him Fate Five?"

"Then together they'll be a perfect ten," Daryl stated.

Fay laughed loudly and clapped him on the shoulder. "Did you just make a joke, _cabri_?"

"Shut up," Daryl growled.

"It was a bad joke." Fay continued to chuckle, putting his rifle back together again, before saying. "You know, if I have a son and you have a daughter, they could very well end up married someday."

Daryl scoffed at the thought. "I think I'd be okay with that."

"Or we could have two girls who end up being life partners together." The Lieutenant added with a grin.

Daryl smiled at the stars overhead.

"Jesus," Fay said after a bit. "I just realized that we might be grandparents someday."

The smile on Daryl's lips faded fast and he propped himself up on his elbows again, squinting at the Cajun's back. He tried to picture himself old and greyer than he was at the moment. Hobbling around, wrinkled, maybe more crotchety that he was.

Christ. That was a horrifying thought.

"My knees are going to go," Fay said. "Tall men always have knee problems. With you, it'll be the eyes."

"My eyes?"

"Yeah, you already squint enough."

Snorting, Daryl flopped backwards again. "Probably be my hearing, my old man had piss poor hearing and shouted even when he wasn't pissed at the world."

"You know, the way the world is now, you'll have to carry one of those giant horns for hearing better," Fay teased.

"Yeah, well enjoy your walker while you fight walkers, asshole."

The Marine laughed hard. "Will it have those little tennis balls on the feet?"

Daryl chuckled.

"Pants up to our tits, hair growing out of our ears, balls down to our ankles," Fay listed off.

"We can tuck them into our socks," Daryl pointed out.

They both hunched over in laughter, trying hard not to be too damned loud and attract anything that could be out in the woods.

"If we live through this," Fay murmured as they fell silent again. "I'm never going far from home again."

Daryl blinked up at the stars. "Yeah."

He meant it too. He was in full agreement with the Marine. What he missed wasn't so much the convent, but the home it represented. A place where he felt safe and loved.

Thinking about it, he didn't ever have that, not even before the shit hit the fan. Here he was, about to have a kid, thinking about the future, wishing he was back home with a woman he loved.

Maybe hope was going to kick him in the balls yet. Because things were going too well for him.

Suddenly he felt fear grab hold of his heart and squeeze mercilessly.

He sat up a little and glanced over at Fay.

At that very moment, the Marine was glancing at him surreptitiously.

Both men stopped long enough to eye the other, before Fay swallowed thickly and jerked his chin in the direction of Gwen and Ryan. "Think I should go over there and croon a little Otis Redding for them? Put them in the right mood?" He teased. It was a hollow subterfuge to get both of their minds of what Daryl had no doubt was the same concern.

Daryl didn't bite, instead he said, "maybe we should try to find our girls?"

Fay bowed his head to his rifle. "Where would we even begin looking?"

"We should try."

"There's nothing we can do, _cabri_. I wish to God Gracie had a beacon shining bright that I could find her out here in this mess, but…you said it yourself. You trust Carol, she can take care of herself. _Mais_, maybe it's best if we just let them run their course."

"Probably what we deserve, all this worry," Daryl said. "After all we've put them through with us."

"Never say God doesn't have a sense of humour." Fay said, strapping his rifle to his back and slipping off the roof of the truck cab. "Think I'll go hum a few bars of _These Arms of Mine_."

Daryl watched the Marine walk off into the dark, knowing full well he was right, knowing there wasn't much they could do. Tomorrow they go into Atlanta and Carol and Grace would keep on their path and they'd walk the road separately. What ever happened, would happen, he couldn't do anything about it.

And that thought bothered him, it settled heavy in his gut like a boulder and lodged there.

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******************************************DarylDixon'sLover - You're telling me.**

******************************************vickih - I feel the same way. Kowalski is just so damned cute, you do not hurt him and leave him for dead, he's just a baby.**

******************************************Yazzy x - We have more than moose and maple syrup...but not much more.**

******************************************Pam - I think Carol and Grace will be gunning for that Queen Bee now more than ever, after seeing poor Kowalski.**

******************************************itsi3 - Let's hope Kowalski pulls through. He's just a sweet young man.**

******************************************Lilone1776 - I'm hoping Kowalski becomes one of those scrappy types, who keeps getting shit on, but overcomes it. Like first losing his hearing, now this, maybe in the future losing a limb...then an eye, until he just becomes a little alley cat with nicked ears and the likes. ^_^**

******************************************Brazen Hussy - Aw, I'm glad you have a Merle and a Merle-lite. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!**

******************************************Merle's Right Hand - I think at this point, the ladies are thinking that in regards to the woman at least, all peace talks are off.**

******************************************spygrrl99 - Uh, poutine is an illegal sex act involving gravy, French fries and cheese.**

******************************************Claire Randall Fraser - Is it bad that I also want this conversation to happen. Even if I have to write it in a oneshot and post it to tumblr...I want Cash to tattle to the boys about that conversation.**

******************************************Surplus Imagination - Well, there's anywhere from 6 to 12 hours of nighttime, Daryl giving Carol three in a night isn't that far fetched, especially when you take into account the fact that she's 'training' him. She might have been giving him some good instruction that night. ^_^ I love that in all the chapter, that's the part you protest! You kill me! XD**


	23. Heart

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**Chapter Twenty-Three: Heart**

****Gwen****

She was very careful not to startle him as she climbed onto the top of the car to join him. It was bad enough that after Carl shot him, when the boy was calmed, she had to calm Ryan, she didn't want to add to his stress.

She had seen Ryan's sleepless nights, watched his agitation. It didn't take a genius to see he was reluctant to make friends, that he was afraid of getting close.

Which was why she was careful about making loud, sudden sounds around him, she didn't want to trigger any more stress on him than he needed. She couldn't be the person to set him off.

He glanced at her in the darkness, scowling.

Another one of his defensive traits was to wear a sour look on his face to keep people from striking up conversation. He had done it since they met.

She didn't buy it.

He was making strides in taking Carl's mission on, he was doing better in the past three days than he had ever done.

But.

And that 'but' hung heavily over the scene as she eyed him cautiously.

But she needed to deal with something that had been bothering her since that other Marine and the scruffy man wandered into their presence with tales of the military men from Tennessee.

"You should be sleeping," Ryan said.

"Why don't I take over watch and you can get some sleep," she suggested.

"Hn," he grunted.

He was avoiding answering her and she knew it.

"Why don't you want to sleep, Ryan?" She asked, prodding a little to see what he'd do. You could tell a lot about a man by exposing the wound he carried to the air.

"What happened to your husband?" He demanded.

"What?" She shook her head, he was trying to throw her. Folding her arms, knowing full well it made her appear defensive, she cleared her throat lightly and moved in closer to him. "How's your shoulder?" She asked, moving to check it, shoving the strap of his Kevlar vest aside and pulling the neck of his shirt down to look at it.

Despite his efforts to lean away from her touch, she managed to lift the gauze and electrical tape to eye the raw looking wound.

The bullet had cauterized it, but at the time it was still seeping blood from one end of it and since Phoebe starting stitching the wrong end, she had sewn it all up.

"I think you should tell them," she said, finally getting down to it.

"About what?" He demanded, shrugging her off gently and shifting away from her.

She followed him, subtly creeping in close to him again. "About Tennessee."

"It doesn't matter."

"Ryan—"

"Look, the only people who know that it was us who shot those bastards are you and me and Phoebe and Simone and I don't think any of us are going to turn stool pigeon."

"But maybe we should tell them, give them a head's up?"

Ryan leaned forward and spit off the edge of the car.

"Is that what you are now?"

"What?"

"Spitting?"

"I spit," he repeated.

"Llamas and camels spit."

"What? I spit!" He went on with a small sparkle of enjoyment lighting up his eyes.

Gwen smiled and shook her head.

"Jesus," he murmured. "I don't know whether you're trying to be my mother or my wife half the damned time. I stab a guy in the throat for you and you say nothing, but I spit off a goddamned car in the middle of buttfuck nowhere and you ride my ass…"

"They probably won't care that you shot some soldiers, Ryan," she whispered, keeping the conversation between the two of them. "Sounds to me like they aren't fond of these men, if they were these men."

"We killed some threats, Gwen, that's it. We left no witness, it doesn't matter if we tell Carl's people or not. Just, ah, keep your head down. And maybe go get some sleep."

"I'm sorry," she said, moving closer to him, invading his personal space. "Am I bothering you?"

"Gwen," he warned flatly.

She leaned against him heavily.

"Gwen."

She stepped away from him at the sound of someone nearby humming 'These Arms of Mine' and they both turned to find Lieutenant Vancoughnett wandering by, looking like he was on patrol. He jerked his chin in silent greeting at them.

"Tomorrow," Ryan said after the man moved on. "I don't care what anyone says, you and the girls stay close to me. My word is final. Okay?"

"Your word?" She demanded.

"Okay, just pretend I have some say in our actions," he urged.

"You're the boss."

"When you allow me to be."

She smiled warmly at him and rubbed his upper arm. "It's not you, I'm the same way with any man who comes into my life."

"I'm beginning to discover that."

Passing by again, the tall Marine paused, before climbing onto the car roof to join them, standing on the hood heavily, denting it where he stood.

"I don't mean to step in here," he greeted politely.

"Not stepping in," Gwen assured him.

He flashed a charming smile, but addressed Ryan. "I just wanted to say that your brother is a hell of a Marine."

Ryan nodded.

"I mean, he's tough as hell."

"Yeah, he had to be, we put him through the motions," Ryan said.

"Last Daryl and I saw of him, he was heading home," the Lieutenant pointed out. "We parted ways after escaping, he went North and we came South. But I'm sure he'll be back, he's a scrappy little thing."

Ryan nodded.

"Did he…follow you into the corps?"

"No, I followed him," Ryan said. "I was working a two cent a day job on a construction team, when I heard the little dipshit joined up. But you can't choose where you're posted, so after basic, he was shipped overseas and I was sent to DC first, then over."

"You look after him."

"Well, he's the youngest boy and Jordan and Tom gave him a hell of a time, but I always liked him. Dad always said Charlie would be the one who saved the world. It didn't understand what he meant, think he saw Charlie's strength long before anyone else ever did."

"We were taken prisoner," the Lieutenant said, clearing his throat. "A while back, your brother and I and one of our men, and they were going to shoot us in the woods. So one man tells your brother to take his helmet off, so I give him the sign to remove it and he gets this kind of look in his eyes and he took that helmet off and he swung it and he didn't stop swinging until that man's face was ground beef. We survived, because your brother saved our lives."

Ryan chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Gwen asked him.

"Our dad enrolled Charlie in Little League when he was eight and one day this catcher was giving him shit talk, trying to screw with Charlie's head and I swear to God, when my baby brother struck out, he removed his batting helmet and smacked that kid in the face as hard as he could. Broke his damned nose. And this kid is writhing on the ground, blood is just pouring out and parents and coaches are freaking out and I swear to God I heard Charlie over the din, quiet and calm as can be, say 'learn some manners'."

Gwen beamed at the idea of Ryan's brother, even the Lieutenant laughed jovially.

"He'll be back," Ryan assured everyone. "Charlie's a fighter."

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****Carol****

She was standing at the base of Kowalski's infamous tree at the very end of the driveway, smack in the middle of the farmyard, looking up into the half burned branches.

Reaching out a hand, she touched the charred trunk and sighed.

While one half of the giant oak grew lush and green, the other side was dark and dead. It amazed her the thing was still alive. Looking down at the blackened soot her hand had dragged away from the tree, she idly rubbed it onto the front of her tank and turned her eyes upwards into the thick of the tree.

She wondered about the vantage point from there, it must have been magnificent if Kowalski kept a majority of walkers away from up there.

Reaching up, she took hold of one of the lower branches and tried to pull herself up, but she couldn't haul her extra weight up, so she dropped again and looked about.

Spying a ladder resting against the side of the house, near the attic window (probably for an easy escape in the event of emergency), she moved over and borrowed it, resting it against the tree securely and scrambling up into the lush green of the oak's living side.

Pushing through the branches and fronds of Spanish moss, she found a platform had been built on the top of the trunk, where it split off it all directions and carefully worked herself across a thick branch, hopping onto the solid platform.

Crouching, she peered through the leaves, down the driveway.

This was Kowalski's world, she realized, what he saw daily for nearly a year.

And he saw it all in silence.

Turning her head to her right, she saw the farmhouse, clear through the burnt half of the oak.

She could see Vivian and Kate sitting on the front porch shelling early season peas, in one of the upper windows, she could see Mae's brother Carter sitting on a bed reading.

Turning to her left, she saw the pasture stretch to the woods, the cows had been put in for the night and it was dead, but through a gape in the leaves, she could see pretty much everything.

Behind her she could see right through the open barn doors, to where Sid sat rubbing down one of his horses, to where Delgado and Charon sat on low stools milking their dairy cattle.

Leaning forward to peer over the edge of the platform, Carol could see where Delgado's people buried their dead, just at the base of the tree. Putting her hand down on the wooden planks to steady herself, she felt something rough etched into the wood there and leaned back onto her ass, reaching for her lighter to see in the dark what was carved into the wood.

_DON'T STOP._

Tilting her head, she held the lighter closer to the words, like they'd give her some clue as to what they meant, the more light she poured on them.

Beside those cryptic words, etched into the wood was a list. Not a tally of walkers or men he killed, but a list of names, most of them etched out of existence, but some of remaining.

_Eve, Dolly, Vivian, Mae, Carter, Kate, __Doctor Brooks_ (which had been crossed out)_, Delgado, Sid, __Mr. Hollander _(also crossed)_, Mrs. Hollander_, the list went on and every dead man had been scratched off. But Carol realized that it wasn't a tally of the fallen, it was a checklist.

Running her finger down it, she glanced about the farmyard.

From his vantage point in the tree at the end of the driveway, in the middle of the farmyard, Kowalski had been keeping watch, not only for threats, but over his people. He could see all the comings and goings, he could take a headcount.

With a shaking hand, she let the lighter go out, casting her into darkness.

Kowalski's checklist wasn't about duty, it was about love.

It must have been a hard decision to leave them, she decided. But he probably had a good reason.

Easing onto her bottom, she reached for a scrap of paper that had been tucked into the cracks between the planks. It was brittle and stiff, like it had been there for a long time and when she opened it, she regretted doing so.

In the light of her lighter, she read the first few lines of a psalm that she didn't fully comprehend, couldn't remember from her bible studies as a child, but knew from the way it was written that it was a mournful cry from a man who couldn't speak to express himself.

_By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, _

_yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion._

_We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof._

_For there they that carried us away captive required of us a song; _

_and they that wasted us required of us mirth, saying, _

_Sing us one of the songs of Zion._

_How shall we sing the LORD'S song in a strange land?_

Carol quickly tucked the paper away, feeling sick for invading Kowalski's privacy like she had. She didn't think the paper was so important, but it must have been. She quickly began to gather herself in order to leave his nest, when she spied their truck with Grace at the wheel, tearing up the drive and hurried to get out of the tree, putting the ladder back and joining Grace as she hopped out, Carol lead St. James and Mrs. Douglas into the house, where Kowalski had been laid out on a sofa, Mrs. Hollander and Mae still sitting with him.

Everyone was shoved back out of the room once St. James and Mrs. Douglas had themselves settled with their medical supplies and Carol moved to sit on the porch with Grace, frowning as Merle strolled up the dark walk towards them.

"Ladies," he greeted Vivian and Kate who still shelled peas.

"Merle?" Grace gasped.

"You drive like an Irishman with nothing to lose," he declared, flopping onto his ass on the steps beside them.

"You sneaky snake," Grace stated.

"Sue me," he declared.

"How's the little Marine?" Cash asked from where he eased up against the balustrade of the porch.

"I don't know, I just got here," Grace said.

"Still alive," Carol said. "Why'd you come?"

Merle shrugged. "If I let anything happen to you, my baby brother would try to kick my ass and then I'd have to knock him back into place."

Grace cleared her throat.

"What?" Merle demanded.

"Chivalry is dead, isn't it, Mr. Dixon?" Grace asked.

"Why? What'd I do?"

Tsking, Grace looked away, staring into the night.

Merle winked at Carol and smirked. "So," he rasped, "what's the plan then?"

"It was peace talks," Carol said.

"But…?"

"But after seeing Kowalski…what they did to him…" Carol trailed off. She wasn't the retributive type, but the sight of Kowalski caused tears, if that had been Daryl or the Lieutenant, she didn't think she could have handled it.

"Psalm 7:9," Grace said softly. "O righteous God, who searches minds and hearts, bring to an end the violence of the wicked and make the righteous secure."

Merle eyes lit up. "What's that now, sister?"

"If God won't sort out the blackest hearts from the shining souls of men, then I will."

Carol and Merle exchanged a quick glance.

"Are you saying, Mother Superior, that you're going to cut their fucking hearts out?" Merle asked.

"If we cannot achieve peace, then I will do what I must to protect my people, even if it means blackening my own heart and tainting my soul for God," Grace returned calmly.

"Surely God shall smite the head of his enemies," Cash broke in.

Everyone turned to look at him.

"What?" He demanded. "I live at convent, there's only so many books to read."

"If," Carol insisted, "peace talks fail, then we'll do what we have to in order to survive."

Merle smirked. "I joined the right party."

"But," Grace added sternly, "we attempt peace first."

"Okay, but I will literally cut a fucking heart out if shit gets tight," Merle said. "I may even eat one to gain my enemies strength," he teased.

They all fell quiet as St. James emerged from the house, wiping his bloodied hands on a rag. He looked like he was going to head to the barn, looking for Delgado no doubt, but Carol stopped him politely with her voice.

"How is he?"

St. James stopped at the bottom of the steps and turned back to them. "Well, he'll live, but it's not going to be a pretty recovery. He has four breaks to his left leg, three to his right, a dislocated shoulder, broken wrist, broken nose and three broken ribs, the orbit of his right eye has been smashed and his jaw dislocated. I'm honestly amazed he's not begging to be put down from the pain, but he seems pretty calm, might be shock. He's got a heavy concussion and a heavily lacerated and battered face. When he's strong enough, I may have to operate around his eye, just so the orbit sits right. It's bad enough he's deaf, can't have him struggling to see as well. The only part of him that, thankfully is still undamaged is his spine, so at least he'll walk again."

Beside her, Carol noticed Grace cross herself and she nodded to St. James. "Thank you for helping him."

He quirked a brow at her. "I'm not the best character, Carol, but I firmly believe in the Hippocratic Oath. You couldn't have kept me from coming to this boy's aid. They tell me Delgado's in the barn, I'm going to let him know the damage, then I'll get down to setting bones."

"Will you need any help?" Grace asked.

He shook his head. "Between Mrs. Hollander and Mrs. Douglas, I'll have pretty damned fine help, thank you."

As he walked away and as Cash and Merle both sauntered into the house to get fat off whatever food Delgado's people were offering, Carol turned to Grace and whispered, "Grace? Do you remember something from the bible that goes…something about Babylon and remembering Zion?"

"Psalm 137? By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion? That one?"

"Yes. What does it mean?"

"The psalm? It's about the yearnings of the captured and exiled Hebrews from Jerusalem, who hang their harps upon the trees, so that no sound of rejoicing could ever be heard for they thought there was no way they could ever sing for their captor's in a foreign land. It's mostly a psalm of sadness and desire for home. Why?"

"Doesn't matter," Carol returned, feeling utterly sick at the idea of Kowalski mulling over the psalm in his silent prison in the tree.

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**********************************************DarylDixon'sLover - You're the world's fastest reviewer! Must be a hell of a fast reader too! ^_^**

**********************************************Brazen Hussy - *tsks* I give you an inch and you take a mile! ^_^ I will write more, but with that relationship, patience is a virtue.**

**********************************************Merle's Right Hand - I think it's time both our girl's start growling.**

**********************************************featherpluckns - I see Rick as the type who has to have his hand in all the jams. And what are you talking about? Merle is adorable.**

**********************************************Claire Randall Fraser - You know what? I may still write that oneshot, if I can't find a way to work it into the actual story. I'll let you know if I do, okay?**

**********************************************Yazzy x - Merle is the manliest man at that convent, I swear to God.**

**********************************************ArcheryLefty - I'm glad you appreciate me writing his difficulties. I actually had a friend who lost an arm, so I kind of know the hell it is to adjust (I believe in one chapter of GD&S I even had Merle struggling to tie his boots), it's amazing how people don't think about things like that.**

**********************************************Surplus Imagination - I believe this theory came up on tumblr about why Norman always wears sunglasses. I personally think it's because he's embarrassed about his one eye, but either theory is cool with me. ^_^**

**********************************************vickih - I have a love hate relationship with Rick. When I love him, I would die for him, when I hate him, I would kill him. It's a complicated relationship.**

**********************************************itsi3 - Thanks!**

**********************************************Pam - I love Merle too. Something about those Dixon boys. ^_^ Thanks for the review!**


	24. Cake

******************************************************So I won this award for best series over on The Caryl Daily on tumblr. And I just wanted to post a mass thank you to all who voted. Actually, you know what? I want to thank all of you who've stuck by this series. You're all beautiful people and never let anyone tell you otherwise.**

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**Chapter Twenty-Four: Cake**

****The Lieutenant****

"Hey, Gucci," he exclaimed, tossing a purse at Daryl.

He, Michonne and Daryl had volunteered to go into Atlanta first to hunt for diesel enough to get their vehicles moving in case they needed to make a mad dash for them, but halfway into Atlanta, after digging through broken down vehicles for anything of use, they sat to take a break in the hot, muggy Georgian morning.

"What the fuck is a Gucci and why should I care?" Daryl snapped. It was so hot and muggy, and he didn't like the way the sun shone, even though black clouds gathered. If they got a twister, they'd be fucked.

Fay pointed at a gold G on the clasp of the purse and smirked at Michonne as she picked up the bag and looked it over.

"My girl, the first one, Eloise, she had a pair of Gucci earrings, lost one, so I became very familiar with what the other looked like. You know, in case I ran into it on my travels." The Marine chuckled and eased down beside him on the road, in the shade of the car they had been going through as Michonne continued going through things in the back.

"It's weird today," Daryl said.

"Is it?" Fay asked.

"You ever been in a twister before, Lieutenant?" Michonne asked, moving to stand before them.

"Shit no," the Lieutenant was suddenly very interested in the black sky overhead. "Do you think…?"

"Hell, things keep up this way, with no storm to break the heat, maybe." Getting to his feet, Daryl started off again, Fay at his side.

They travelled for a half a mile before Michonne asked, "you really never get tired carrying all that junk around on your back?"

Fay glanced over his shoulder at his ever present pack. "No."

"He pulls shit out of there like it's a magician's hat," Daryl pointed out.

Boldly, Michonne yanked the tall Marine to a stop and began pawing through the many pockets on the Lieutenant's pack.

He waited patiently for her like an old horse, shrugging at Daryl's curious frown.

"Just looking for that missing Gucci earring," she teased with a small, proud smirk.

As she continued to dig through the pockets idly, she pulled out a handful of small packets.

"Why all the ketchup packets?" Michonne asked.

"Oh, well, here's a survival tip, ketchup has most of what you need, save for protein, calcium and fat, now you find yourself a little critter, some poor rabbit or," he gestured to Daryl, "squirrel, toss some ketchup into the mix and you'd be set for a day or two, in a pinch."

Making an impressed face, she put the packets back and zipped him up, letting him go.

They continued on down the road, heading towards Atlanta, as the sky began to spit sporadic drops of rain.

Daryl paused and eyed the sky above them and the area all around with a worried look that didn't go amiss by the Lieutenant.

Glancing at Michonne beside him, he noticed she was also gazing up at the sky with suspicious eyes.

He was a little nervous, having never been in a tornado before, but he knew the devastation they caused, he wasn't completely blind to the news before shit went south.

"Come on," Daryl suggested. "Let's keep moving."

They walked in tense silence, as the rain continued to sprinkle on them.

"Tell us a story, Fay," Daryl suggested.

He swallowed thickly and searched through the files of his memories for a good one.

"One time," he began, "in the summer, some boys and me we headed down to a local watering hole. Decidedly not swampland, it was nice, sandy and clean, and we decided to go swimming. We had gone to fish, but they weren't biting and it was _hot_, hot. I mean, it was hotter than the Devil's taint, so we stripped down, right down. In those days we didn't care whose little _bibitte_ was dangling, we just wanted to swim. I mean, parents used to bathe children together, so it didn't matter to swim together in nature's own.

Now we were swimming like we didn't to live, we were drowning and splashing each other, I mean we truly gave no goddamns about it. So I swam out, Thom Harbinger dared me to swim to the other bank, right across this watering hole. So I decided to try, now I'm swimming and this water, it's clear as the air around you, I mean, you could see the bottom from anywhere in that little hole of ours and as I'm swimming, taking my time, pacing myself, I see down below me this…I thought it was a water angel, or…a nymph of some kind. I had a broad imagination back then. Now, I pulled it to a stop and sort of tread water above her, peering down, trying to figure this creature out. And as I'm bobbing there above her, I realize she's not moving, that her arms are waving with the motion of the water, that her skirt was human, that her legs had been chained to a couple of cinder blocks.

Turns out this poor sixteen year old girl named Jean had been killed by a couple of older teenagers and they panicked and dumped her in the watering hole, not thinking that on a good day you could see clear to the bottom.

I remember my _Mamere_ crawling into my bed that night and holding me tight as I lay there in shock and said, '_P'tit boug_, bad things happen to everyone. There's no method or reason, it just does. But you gotta think before you do, because that's how bad things get done by you'.

I wanted to go to the girl's funeral, so my _Papere_ took me. I remember being eight years old and holding this pineapple-coconut cake my _Mamere_ baked for the family. And I remember standing in front of these two people, who…they sat on their chaise looking so lost. I said to the woman, Jean's mama, I said, 'she's an angel', because to me that girl was, is always that water angel I saw just under those clear waves.

I stumbled then and dropped the cake, and I thought that I ruined this woman's day, but…dropping a cake is nowhere near as awful as burying your baby…so I started crying, because at the age of eight, I thought I made things worse and this lovely woman, named Justine mother of Jean the water angel, she scooped me up and held me so tight and I swear to God I took part of her pain that day with me and I still lives in me, right here," he touched his fist to his chest. "Justine died a few years later of cancer, but I remember until the year she died, every year on Jean's birthday, she'd bring me a cake and we'd sit with her and her husband and we'd eat cake and talk about things. All kinds of things. She was a nice lady, probably a really good mother. It broke my heart in all kinds of ways."

Beside him Michonne sniffed and turned her head to conceal her tears, but he caught them and said, "I didn't mean to upset you."

She shook her head. "It's okay."

Even Daryl's footsteps faltered, before he stopped and looked back at them.

"I'm just…thinking of my baby," Michonne confessed.

Both men shifted on their feet, before the Lieutenant exclaimed. "Oh God, I'm sorry, girl. I didn't mean to…shit…I didn't know…"

She shook her head. "It's okay."

"Oh my, come here," he swooped in and pulled her against him tightly.

She pushed him off and cleared her throat. "I'm fine." She insisted.

For a moment he stood, unsure what to do to make things better, feeling like a real _bon rien_.

"Oh," he exclaimed, dropping his pack and falling to one knee to go through it. "Hold on, I know…"

Digging through the many, intricate layers of crap in his pack, he finally found it somewhere near the bottom and pulled it out, flapping a beautiful coloured headscarf at her in offering.

"What would I do with this?" She demanded.

"For your head," he suggested. "I was keeping it for a rag, but it's too pretty to go to waste."

"Just like one of those fine ladies, hm?" She teased, taking the offering and tying it up into her dreadlocks overtop of her maroon band. "Thank you."

He nodded at her with a smile.

"I'd have preferred the pineapple-coconut cake," she added as they started walking again.

"Me too," Daryl added.

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****Carol****

Morning had come.

After a night of watching over Kowalski, of trying to make themselves, useful, before crashing together on the floor of the parlour, head's bent towards the other, Carol and Grace slept.

But once the sun rose, once the sky outside lightened behind heavy dark grey clouds, they were both up and preparing to leave.

St. James and Mrs. Douglas had agreed to stay on, Herschel was at the convent and they decided it was better to be there for Kowalski. Cash and Merle, who had both crashed in the hayloft of the barn sometime earlier that night, were both up and ready for them when they arose.

"Carol, Grace?" Delgado called out to them as they prepared to leave, hurrying from the barn where he was helping put the cows to pasture.

Carol was unprepared for the giant hug he gave her and made a small sound of surprise as he did so, hugging her good and tight, before stepping back to give Grace the same display of affection.

"I wanted to thank you both before you left, we all wanted to thank you, but I was elected spokesman," he explained.

"No thanks needed," Carol said.

"No, there is. Kowalski may have been sullen and distant, but he was ours and…if I could spare the guns for you—"

"No," Grace broke him off, with a gentle hand on his wrist. "This is what neighbours do in times of hardship."

"Well, all that being said and done, we wanted to offer you something, so we were talking earlier this morning and we want to give you first pick of the calves next spring, plus half a bull we're planning on butchering this fall."

"Mr. Delgado—"

"We're not taking no for an answer, Grace, this is kind of a gift." He insisted.

Carol smiled. "Thank you, Delgado."

"No, really, thank you both," he said as Mae came to stand beside him, giving him two bouquets of daisies, which he offered to both women with a sweet, shy smile.

Carol took hers with a broad grin. "Thank you."

Leaning in he kissed first Carol, then Grace on the cheek.

"You two are more than welcome back here at any time. Take care of yourselves, ladies."

"You too, Mr. Delgado," Grace returned.

As they approached the truck, Merle and Cash both smirked.

"Where's our posies?" Merle demanded.

Carol broke off a flower and tucked it behind his ear with a smile.

He grinned back. "You think I ain't man enough to wear this?" He barked.

"It suits you, Merle," she stated, hopping into the truck.

The four of them squished into the truck, packed right in and drove off down the lane, heading out of Delgado's farm.

As they drove, Grace quietly wove her daisies into a crown, her head bent to the task.

"You know, Carol," she said suddenly, still working on her daisy chain. "I was thinking about Psalm 137 this morning. The ending of it."

"By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion. We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof. For there they that carried us away captive required of us a song; and they that wasted us required of us mirth, saying, Sing us one of the songs of Zion. How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange land? If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning. If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth; if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy. Remember, O Lord, the children of Edom in the day of Jerusalem; who said, Raze it, raze it, even to the foundation thereof. O daughter of Babylon, who art to be destroyed; happy shall he be, that rewardeth thee as thou hast served us. Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones." Merle quoted.

Carol frowned as she pulled the truck onto the main highway. "I thought you said the psalm was one of loss and desire for home."

"It is, but it's also one of regret for not having destroyed everything before it could fall into enemy hands."

"It's better to put down your own people, then have them tormented and laid waste at the hands of others," Merle explained.

The thoughts of Kowalski as a loving protector suddenly turned in Carol's mind, not towards the awful or sinister, but she now understood just how far he'd go to protect his people from harm. A quick bullet to the head would be preferable to the torture and anguish at the hands of evil hearts.

He was a puzzle she couldn't figure out.

Finishing her crown of daisies, Grace set it on Cash's head and smiled. "Well, at the very least, we made a good impression on kind neighbours."

Leaning towards Merle, Cash taunted, "I'm more manly than you, because I'm wearing a crown of this shit."

"Your crown is dumb as fuck," Merle shot back.

"Boys, don't make me pull over," Carol warned lightly.

"So? Where to next?" Cash asked. "What's the plans?"

"We drive around until we run into some of the soldiers, ask for this Rhoades and try to make contact," Carol explained. "But first we need to find some diesel before we run dry."

They drove on in silence for a while.

"You know, while we're looking for these men, maybe we should start planning a wedding," Carol teased to break the silence.

Grace laughed. "If we can't find these men, Carol, there may not be a wedding."

"Are we thinking gowns?" Cash asked. "Because she's a nun, but…rumour has it, white ain't her colour anymore."

"You're a dipshit," Merle declared. Leaning ahead, he addressed Grace around the blond man. "You can wear white if you want, honey."

"Thank you, Merle, but I wasn't thinking of making a grand ceremony of the affair."

"Oh, come on, you have to," Carol insisted. "We haven't had a good reason to celebrate in so long."

"Weddings are for silly women and girls to dream about," Grace stated firmly. "I will not be a silly woman."

"So what? You're just going to strut up that aisle in jeans and a tank?" Cash asked.

"Yes. And…maybe due to what I've done, a church isn't the best place for me to get married in. You know what, maybe I won't even have a wedding, just live in sin."

"I was kind of looking forward to a wedding," Carol admitted. "But it's your day, your decision."

"Fuck that," Merle stated. "She's wearing a damned dress, dolling herself up, going down an aisle and I'm getting shitfaced at that dance and I'm dancing with all the women."

Carol smirked and pulled off the highway, heading down a road that lead to a nearby town, no one asked her why she did that, assuming she was looking for the soldiers, but she had done it purely because she knew there was a dress shop there with a few pretty wedding gowns displayed in the front window.

"You know," Carol said with a sly grin. "I bet the Lieutenant would wear a suit if you had a big ceremony."

Grace laughed. "That man would never wear a suit."

"I bet he'd look real good in a suit and tie," Carol went on.

"I bet," Cash added, catching on to Carol's game, "they might even make a trip back to that Marine base and grab a dress uniform."

"Doesn't change my mind," Grace said after a thoughtful moment.

"I bet he'd look sexy as hell in his dress uniform."

"I know what you're all trying to do," Grace stated. "And it won't work. I'd feel foolish in one of those damned gowns, with the…lace and all those ribbons and flowers in my hair like a hippie…skirt out to God's land and back."

Pulling into the town slowly, they drove down the long Main Street, spying only one sad looking walker moving in circles by the statue in the town park. Carol stopped long enough for Cash to hop out across Grace and put the thing down, before they continued on down the street slowly, her eyes out for the shop.

When she finally found it, she pulled the truck to a slow, neat stop right out front and leaned forward to smile impishly at Grace.

The former nun seemed unimpressed.

"No."

Merle and Cash both leaned forward to look expectantly at her.

"Look, we can have the silly dance, I suppose, but no gown and no church."

"Well," Carol said. "I'm going to put on a nice dress, because it's been so long since I looked good."

"Girl," Merle argued as they all hopped out of the truck, "you always look good."

"Vanity," Grace spat almost grudgingly.

"What?" Merle demanded. "You look fine as hell too."

Grace tsked at him and followed the three others to the shop, but as Carol opened the door and they all piled in, she hung around the door, looking out of place and almost afraid.

As Merle and Cash checked the place over for walkers or things to take, Carol perused the gowns on display.

Her own wedding gown to Ed had been her best dress. It was a black dress that had faded to grey, but it was all she could afford at the time, it was all she wanted really.

But she still liked to look at pretty things, now more than ever.

Cash, still wearing his crown of daisies, hopped onto the counter with his pipe out and tapped the ash out of it. "So? Where's this fashion show we were promised?"

"I didn't promise you anything," Grace stated, pointing at Carol.

"I didn't promise you a fashion show either," Carol said. "I only wanted to try on something that wasn't fifty years old and ratty." She moved towards the casual dress rack and began going through it. "Besides, the way my stomach is growing, I might need something flowy to wear over it."

"That is a good point," Grace said, moving into the shop and joining Carol at the casual rack.

"Might find something for Annie too," Carol added.

"This is bullshit," Merle rasped. "I was hoping for a titty parade."

"Merle," Carol warned.

Folding his arms, with his pipe in his teeth, Cash added, "yeah, I was hoping for one of those t-titty parades, too."

"Shut up," Merle grunted.

Pulling out a red dress, Carol smiled and held it high for Grace to see. "What do you think? It has enough give for a growing stomach, right?"

"I think so."

At the counter, Merle dropped his head back and snored loudly.

"Wait outside then," Grace snapped.

Carol stopped her hunt, when Grace pulled out a pretty robin's egg blue dress with clusters of white and pink English roses sprinkled across it, the former nun fingered the dress gently, almost wistfully.

"Think I could get married in something like this?" Grace asked.

"I think it'd be okay."

"Is that blue or green?" Cash asked.

"What?"

"That colour, is it more blue or more green?"

"Why?"

"Well," the man hopped off the counter. "Married in blue, to you he'll stay true, married in green, afraid to be seen."

"Blue," Carol said.

Grace nodded. "Yes, I think it's more blue."

"Then you'll be fine."

"How do you know this shit?" Merle demanded.

"Um, I had a twin sister, Merle, we talked about everything."

"That's why you're so womanly."

Carol wasn't listening to the fight that ensued, her eyes were on the unfriendly sky outside. She had noticed how it suddenly had turned almost black and moved to the window to stare out at the rain that was sprinkling down lightly.

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**************************************************Fairies Masquerade - I'm kind of enjoying Carol and Grace being large and incharge too.**

**************************************************spygrrl99 - The only way Merle could respect himself is if he acted like he didn't care when he's doing things to care for others. ^_^**

**************************************************Mysterious Guest - I think the thing that breaks my heart about Kowalski is how obviously intelligent he is, but how he's so unable to communicate this with others.**

**************************************************DarylDixon'sLover - I think we're in agreement on that death. ^_^**

**************************************************Merle's Right Hand - Oh, I was shipping them from the beginning too. Believe me, I have plans for them.**

**************************************************melniewn - Thank you! I'm glad you enjoy this trilogy so much.**

**************************************************Claire Randall Fraser - I'm glad you love Kowalski, that boy needs all the love he can get. And yes, I'm hoping to work that scene with Cash tattling in.**

**************************************************Brazen Hussy - Ehehe**

**************************************************Yazzy x - I agree. Hurting Kowalski is like kicking a puppy. You just don't do it unless you're scum.**

**************************************************vickih - I have a feeling you knew how that Psalm ends... ^_^**

**************************************************itsi3 - Merle is a good man to have backing you in a fight, I think.**


	25. Words

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**Chapter Twenty-Five: Words**

****Daryl****

"How bad are they?"

Daryl had been staring up at the blackening sky for a few minutes as Michonne siphoned some diesel from an overturned truck.

"What?" He demanded.

Fay shifted on his feet beside him. "The twisters you get here. How bad are they?"

"It's not the Midwest," Daryl said, still eyeing the sky. "We don't get big mothers or anything, but…I dunno, this heat, no storm to break it, could be bad enough if we're caught out here."

"Should we head for cover or…?"

"Nah, worst we might get by evening, some heavy winds and maybe finally a crack or two of lightening."

Michonne moved up beside him as Fay wandered off a ways to inspect the overturned truck, her eyes on the sky as well.

"We may not have bad twisters," she said. "But given the right conditions, anything's possible. Maybe we should head for home?"

"Quarry wouldn't be any better, Atlanta's closer, twister ain't never been there."

"We can't go into Atlanta without back-up," she argued.

"Well, one thing we can be sure of, it won't hit till the evening, so…we have some time. Pray for a good storm."

"I'm not the type."

"Fuck it, let's head onwards then, need more diesel than that." He began marching down the highway again, tugging the gas jug with him. He took only three steps, before the wind began to pick up, bringing with it a harder rain and Daryl stopped, searching the sky for signs of a funnel cloud.

He couldn't see anything, but the winds died as the rain began to pelt them hard.

"Better find some shelter!" Michonne shouted over the rain.

"Where?!" Fay shouted back. "Haven't passed a place in miles!"

This couldn't be a tornado, Daryl figured, they usually came in the evening and it was still the middle of the day, but the winds picked up again suddenly, gusting hard, blowing rain in his eyes.

"Come on!" Daryl ordered, spying a white building further down the road, just beyond a hill. "Let's keep moving!"

They picked up the pace, jogging through the rain and sporadic wind, heading towards the little white building just over the rise of the highway.

By the time they reached the peak of the hill, the wind was gusting hard, almost taking their breath away, the wind was plastering their clothes to their bodies, making it feel like they were swimming through quicksand instead of walking through the rain and the wind.

Reaching the little building, which turned out to be a Baptist roadside church, they circled it, hoping for a cellar and finding the door for one at the side.

Daryl kicked the lock in, putting a hole in the doors and struggled to get them open in the wind, ushering Michonne, then Fay inside, before ducking down and in himself and securing the doors behind him.

Down a flight of stairs, they found a door to their right and opened it, stepping into what looked like a nursery full of toys, paintings of children with Jesus and an old upright.

Shaking the rain off their clothing, they stripped down as much as they could to dry off better, hanging their clothes over the tiny table and chairs in the middle of the room.

In the near dark, Daryl listened to the winds howling outside the building and hoped to God it wasn't a freak twister.

Stripping his shirt off completely, Fay handed everyone a blanket as he began to dry himself with one of his own, purloined from a cabinet against the south wall.

Michonne draped hers over her head and cocooned herself in it completely.

Daryl scowled at the two of them, so easily stripped down when he had to wear his goddamned soaked shirt.

"_Bourrasque_," Fay murmured, moving carefully to a nearby narrow basement window and peering out.

"What?"

"Down on the bayou we had a thing called a _bourrasque_, it's ah…" he searched for the English word. "Squall? Heavy wind, rain, can push over an old building like a child's toy if it's strong enough."

As the wind continued to rage outside, the rain slamming into the church, Daryl eased his ass down on the lush, soft carpet of the kiddie area and shook the rain out of his hair with a hand.

Fay plunked his ass down at the piano, his blanket draped lightly over his bare shoulders.

As Michonne hopped onto the stool at Fay's side the Cajun began to idly plink away at the keys of the piano, as though testing the tune.

"So, we just wait it out?" She asked.

"You can go out in that if you want, I ain't drowning for diesel," Daryl griped.

Suddenly the Cajun began to play coherent music on the piano, idly moving his hands over the keys like some kind of idiot savant.

Daryl and Michonne exchanged a look.

"Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band," he began to sing over the sounds of the wind and rain. "Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man. Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand. And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand."

"Shut that shit up," Daryl snapped.

The easy plinking turned hard and fast. "Goodbye Joe, me gotta go, down the bayou. Me gotta go pole the _pirogue_ down the bayou. My Yvonne, the sweetest one, me oh, my oh. Son of a gun, we'll have big fun on the bayou."

"I'm trying to listen to the storm, asshole!" Daryl growled.

The piano turned soft and light again, the Cajun playing In The Sweet By and By off the sheet music in front of him, background noise to the outside squall.

"I didn't know you were so talented, Lieutenant," Michonne said.

"You don't come away from the bayou without learning some kind of musical instrument, _cher_," he said. "There's a land that is fairer than day, and by faith we can see it afar; for the Father waits over the way to prepare us a dwelling place there."

"In the sweet by and by," Michonne picked up softly with a smile, "we shall meet on that beautiful shore. In the sweet by and by, we shall meet—" She broke off as something heavy hit the wall of the church overhead and everyone stood up.

Making their way carefully towards the back wall, the three of them pressed against it as more things skittered and thumped against the church.

"See?" Daryl growled. "God had enough of your damned caterwauling."

"He just doesn't like to be upstaged," Fay shot back as something heavy cracked into the church.

The floor above their heads actually sagged and bowed in the corner by the stairs and the three of them pressed further back against the wall in fear of the whole place collapsing.

"Maybe you should take that back," Michonne suggested calmly.

"Never," Fay stated.

There was another heavy thump and the floor sagged some more, this time the door they had come in through got smashed inwards under the weight of the collapsing floor above it.

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****Carol****

"We should get moving," she suggested, eyeing Merle and Cash who were standing together, peeking up the skirt of a mannequin to settle the bet whether or not she had drawers on.

"Fine by me," Merle said. "This trip fizzled out fast."

"Grace and I are going to change before we head out," she added. "I think this habit idea was silly of me."

"I seemed like a solid idea at the time, honey," Grace assured her.

"But I'm eating my words now," Carol said with a smile. "It's so hot, I don't know how you cope."

"We learn to adjust," Grace said. "They are good for modesty."

"And flying," Cash added. "In this wind you'd sail clear to the Arctic in them."

"I'll go get our change of clothes, Carol," Grace offered, gripping Cash's wrist as he went to lift the mannequin's skirt again. "Behave yourself."

"She's smooth as a river stone down there, anyways," he argued.

Carol moved to the window for the fifth time since being in the shop and watched Grace struggle with the wind in order to get to their truck.

"Maybe I should go help her," Merle said. "That wind isn't pretty today."

"She could blow away," Cash repeated with a grin, moving to stand beside Carol with his hands in his pockets. "Ooh, hold that skirt down, girl," he suggested to Grace through the glass.

As Merle opened the dress shop door, a huge gust of wind came up and knocked him flat, the door actually snapping off the hinges and flying off down the rain slicked street.

Outside, Grace held on tightly to the tailgate of the truck to avoid being blown off her feet, her veil tearing off and flying away into the rain.

"Jesus," Cash muttered. "That wind. Is it a twister?"

"Get away from the window," Carol ordered moving to the door to help Merle up. "Get behind the counter," she added.

Cash ignored her, moving to help Merle up as well. They pulled him off the sidewalk and into the shop as the wind really picked up.

"Grace!" Carol shouted into the fury.

Inside the shop dresses were blown off the walls as a bench from the town park slammed through the window.

Hanging onto the doorframe, Carol tried to risk the wind to get to Grace who was having a hell of a time clutching to the end of the truck, but she knew she couldn't get outside without flying off herself.

Grace was just there, out of reach and before Carol could duck back into the shop to look for something to toss out to her, something came up on the wind and slammed hard into Grace, knocking her loose from the back of the truck, carrying her off down the street head over ass.

Carol's blood froze, when she realized it was a body, a form of someone, a walker that came in on the wind and knocked Grace loose.

And they were both tumbling in a freefall down the street, carried on the heavy wind.

"Oh Jesus, no," Carol uttered.

"Was that a walker?" Merle demanded, still stunned from being knocked down with the wind. "What the fuck was that?"

Only Cash reacted, leaping out into the wind and allowing it to half carry him, half skittering on his own feet down the street after Grace.

Everything disappeared in the grey mists of the heavy rain and Carol didn't know what to do, her hand fell to her stomach protectively and for a moment she felt cowardly for not having done more.

"Come on," Merle shouted over the wind. "Get behind the counter!"

Numbly, Carol allowed Merle to manhandle her right behind the counter, tucking her down safely and covering her with his body against the crap the wind was blowing around the shop.

She slipped her two hands over her stomach protectively and bowed her head against the fury of the storm.

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****Little Missy****

"No! I'm not coming down!"

"Annie," Mr. Mamet tried to coax her down from the mezzanine where she had climbed to escape everything. "Come on, just…come down."

"No!"

It had been nearly midday and neither one of her adoptive parents had come back and Annie was beginning to feel that familiar fear of being left behind creep into her blood, seizing her muscles.

Her first instinct was to climb high and kick at anyone who came to claim her down from where she perched with her legs thrust between the balustrade of the overhang, hands clinging tightly to the top of it, little face poking out between as well, looking down at those gathered below her on the church floor.

"Annie, this is not the time," Mr. Rick shouted up at her. "You have to come down now!"

Her little shoe fell off and nearly smacked Beth in the head.

"You can't make me!" Annie screamed, shrieked at everyone below. "Leave me alone!"

"Annie, they'll be back, come on down, please?" Mary Agnes said.

"No!" She screamed loud and long.

Everyone was gone, her Uncle Daryl and Merle, Carol, her mommy and daddy, everyone. Even Mrs. Douglas and St. James were gone, and they both listened to her.

No one was coming back. They left her like her daddy did, they just left her behind.

"Annie?" Rick tried again.

"Shut up!" She wailed and kicked her other shoe at him.

He ducked it and looked up at her with a lowered brow. "Annie, we have more important things to worry about right now, come down."

Spying Herschel coming into the church, Annie stuck her hand out to him and shouted, "Herschel! Herschel! They left me!"

The old man hobbled over to stand under her, reaching up as high as he could to graze her fingertips with his.

"You don't want to stay up there all day, do you, pumpkin?" He asked her.

She sobbed and shook her head.

"Do you want me to come up there?" He asked.

"No." She lied stubbornly.

"I'm going to come up, okay?"

"No," she protested, sobbing harder. She didn't know why she didn't want him coming up to be with her, she just didn't.

As he moved for the stairs, she screamed and scrambled to get up from the balustrade, backing up against a tall angel statue that stood behind her.

"No!" She screamed and began climbing the statue, trying to scramble up to sit on the top of his shoulder, trying to get higher and away from everyone.

"Annie," Rick warned her. "Don't get up there. You have to calm down!"

Herschel stopped climbing the stairs and backed off, but it was too late, Annie was climbing high on the seven foot tall statue, clinging hard to its head to avoid falling forward off the mezzanine or backwards out the stained glass window, but the statue wobbled on its base and before anyone below could react, Annie was screaming, falling backwards through the stained glass, the angel statue falling out after her.

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**************************************************DarylDixon'sLover - Indeed.**

**************************************************Merle's Right Hand - Mother Nature is the ultimate bitch. She loves kicking a man in the ball's when he's down.**

**************************************************Yazzy x - I love Michonne, but like Glenn, I can't work them in often enough. Maybe when I'm done this series I'll write a Glenncentric fic that stars Michonne. ^_^**

**************************************************Fairies Masquerade - I hope that image of Cash and Merle with flowers in their hair sticks with you for the rest of your life. ^_^**

**************************************************Lilone1776 - I agree with you. If both stopped being so miserable, I think Merle/Cash could be a serious bromance.**

**************************************************vickih - I'm not Christian either, but there is a sort of beautiful poetry to the bible and the psalms in particular, isn't there?**

**************************************************Brazen Hussy - Thank you, my dear! I was utterly shocked, but couldn't be more grateful. ^_^**

**************************************************Surplus Imagination - Are you from Georgia? I only ask, because when I was doing research, I found out that Atlanta is on the top ten list for tornado prone places in the US. I've never been, so I was merely going on research. I have heard conflicting stories about the types of twisters they get down there, with scientists and meteorologists saying they get them and people who live there saying they don't. I wasn't sure. I'm inclined to take your word for it. Maybe it's a case of right place and the wrong time? ^_^**

**************************************************itsi3 - We don't get many twisters up North here either, we had one a few years back that happened at night, which I'm told is rare. And it was a frightening thing.**

**************************************************Guest (who I'm assuming is Happy Blue Ink who forgot to sign in) - Dude, sign in. Don't be lazy. ^_^**


	26. Cheewees

******************************************************____****To defend myself a little if I may. Someone PM'd me that Grace wouldn't blow away in a wind storm, however heavy wind and wind squalls are two very different things. I've done my research enough to feel comfortable saying that a good wind squall can actually crush a metal grain bin under the strength of the wind it creates (they can uproot trees for heaven's sake!). Grace is a small woman, I see her as being about one-ten (maybe) soaking wet, so it's not hard to see a good wind squall pick her up in her habit (which I would imagine wouldn't help her side any) and take her off like a bandit in the night. Thank you for bearing with me.**

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**Chapter Twenty-Six: Cheewees  
**

****Carol****

It had only been ten minutes of absolute wind and rain fury, before the wind died down, leaving only the rain soaking the earth, but to Carol it felt like hours of things blowing around the shop and her clinging hard to the dress Grace had picked for her wedding.

She couldn't really remember, because in those ten minutes, she wasn't thinking right, but when the wind died down and her and Merle rushed outside, the dress was soaked and Carol wasn't sure if it was from the rain or her tears. She shoved the dress into her side bag and took off running down the street.

They headed in the direction Grace and Cash had gone, traversing over anything that hadn't been nailed down, crap strewn about the town like a hurricane had torn through.

"Grace!" She shouted. "Cash!"

Reaching the end of Main Street, where it ended in a few hundred feet of open grassy land, before a sylvan wood sprung up as a thick army of guards keeping the town private from the highway, Carol began searching the tall grass.

"Grace? Cash?" Merle called out.

"I'm here!" Cash called out from the edge of the woods, limping out.

"Where's Grace, did you find her?" Carol asked.

"Damned wind took and slammed me into a tree," Cash said. "I'm fine by the way, thank you."

"Grace?!" She snapped, gripping him by the shirt front. "Did you find her?"

"No. I was kind of wrapped around a damned tree."

"Okay," Carol breathed deeply. "Well, the wind took her in this direction, so we'll just keep walking." She didn't miss the look exchanged by Merle and Cash and frowned. "She's not dead until we find her corpse, walking or otherwise. Until then, she's alive and needs us."

"Yeah, but, what if the wind picks up again?" Merle demanded. "What if that was just the opening act?"

"We look for Grace now, we might find her, shut up and walk," Carol ordered, marching into the woods.

"I love it when you get all Sarah Connor on us," Merle said, following her into the woods.

"Grace!" Carol called.

Cash limped along beside her. "You have a gun or something to spare? I kind of lost mine in the wind."

"No," she said. "Daryl would say you're 'SOL'."

"Cripes, we've suddenly become Miss Irritable Yeast Infection, haven't we?"

Merle handed him his 9mm. "Shut your mouth, she's clearly not in the mood."

"Well, I'm not the one who watched the preggo struggle with the wind, am I?" Cash snapped. "Think I deserve a little thanks for diving after her. You know? Trying to save the lady?"

Merle snatched his gun back. "Hope a biter chomps your ass, dipshit."

"Bitch," Cash grumbled, picking up a hefty stick for protection.

Carol ignored their fight, eyes peeled for signs of Grace.

The wind had knocked over a lot of trees, practically flatten the forest, in all honesty Grace could be under any number of them, unconscious and in need of help.

_Or putting down._

She shoved this thought from her mind, because the thought of what it would do to both Annie and the Lieutenant alone, made her heart seize.

"Grace?" She called out again, desperately.

This whole plan of hers was a terrible one. She had foolishly risked so much for what? They should have just let the Lieutenant and Daryl kill the men. It would have been a lot better than this.

God, she knew now why Rick stooped so much under the burden of leadership. Moments like these were what must weigh on him and every moment added more weight.

They reached the highway after a few minutes of tense walking and searching, but Carol didn't give up, she turned around on her heel and marched right back into the woods. She would tear them apart if she had to.

"Maybe she got blown clear down to Florida," Cash said. "Like that woman on TV with that umbrella."

"Mary Poppins," Merle said. "And shut your face hole."

"Who the fuck is Mary Poppins? I was talking about that weather woman reporting on that hurricane. Wind came along and took her right into the ocean, hell of a thing. Think she died."

"Just shut up, alright?" Merle snapped.

"I'm sorry," Cash said. "I talk when I get nervous."

"Nervous?" Carol asked. "Why are you nervous?"

"Well, you know…she was so pretty and smelled nice…like pecan pie."

"We'll find her," Merle assured him.

"Yeah, it's not just that. It's…what kind of condition will she be in? I don't…I lost a lot of people before, you know? I thought we'd be okay here."

"We've all lost people," Carol said, pushing deeper into the woods. "And we'll never be okay. It's always going to be something."

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****Michonne****

She could only see the Cajun's ass end sticking out from under the branches and leaves of the giant oak that had once resided firmly in the front yard of the church, his legs wiggling to give him better balance.

"Yeah," he said from within the debris. "We're not getting out the way we got in."

She turned to look at Daryl who was haunting the smashed doorframe into the nursery at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes taking in the damage.

Scrambling out of the heart of the mess, the Lieutenant hopped down the broken stairs and carefully picked his way towards them.

"If we had a Husqvarna, maybe, but even then I wouldn't mess too much with that tree, it's probably the only thing keeping this whole wall from collapsing and undermining the entire support frame of this church. It's old enough, think it's just basic support beams and open inside, so there's no support wall to back us up if we tried."

Daryl looked about the basement room, his eyes drawing to the narrow window, but dancing away, studying the carpet at his boots.

"Think you can climb through that?" He asked, addressing Michonne, but looking at no one.

"Maybe if you give me a boost up," she said, eyeing the sunken window. It would be a hard angle to turn once she got through the window, but she could do it, she felt like she was nimble enough.

"That's what I'm built for," the Lieutenant said, pulling his half damp shirt back on as they passed the chair he had left it on. "Finally a use for all this added height."

She smirked as he linked his hands together to give her a boost, after Daryl finished smashing out the window pane and clearing out all the glass.

Hopping onto his hand, she slipped backwards through the empty window into the soup of the heavy rain storm as it pelted down on her in the little space left between the wall and the metal embankment that kept the dirt from collapsing into the sunken window.

It was a struggle to get all of her through before she could stand and she had to remove her sword to leave behind while she fought, but she finally managed to get standing in the space and took her sword as it was thrust up to her.

Hopping up and over onto the wet grass, she climbed up and out, kneeling down to talk to the men inside.

"I'll go get help."

"Fuck that, just bring me an ax," Daryl said.

"An ax?"

"Yeah, we'll chop a hole in the floor and get out through it."

"Are you sure?"

"That's all I need," he said.

"Okay, I won't be long." She assured them.

"Hey, Michonne," the Lieutenant called out, stopping her as she turned to leave.

She knelt back by the window and his head appeared through the narrow opening.

"If you happen to see anything lying about that can be eaten, bring it back too, I'm getting a little dizzy."

"Okay," she said.

"I'm craving some _cheewees_."

"I don't know what those are."

"You don't…oh…uh…they're cheesy things, what do you _Texians_ call them? They're like twisted…oh, Cheetos!"

"I'll keep that in mind."

The Lieutenant started to slip back into the basement, clawing at the gravel that lined the bottom of the sunken space like a cat falling from a bed.

"Well, anything really. Whatever you come across," he murmured before falling back into the basement.

Smiling at the man who could very well die if the structure gave out, she started down the road in the hopes of coming across some kind of farm or anyplace that would have an ax.

She couldn't help it. The Lieutenant had a way of being a giant goofball when things went south, because he knew how to calm people.

Right now, in the rain, she should be panicking mildly, but all she had on her mind was an ax and Cajun _cheewees_.

If the group had to pick a definite leader as Andrea suggested to her earlier at the quarry, she would have thrown in for him or Carol. Both seemed like good candidates for leadership. It would be a hard decision though, she liked Carol's idea of peace talks first, but she also admired the Lieutenant's respect he seemed to have for people.

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****Old Missy****

The wind had carried her tumbling and scrambling with the thing that slammed into her all the way across a field, past a stand of trees, across the highway, before it slammed her and the thing that had taken her from the truck into a tree in the heart of the woods.

She had landed hard on the ground, with the paper thin abomination on top of her, teeth snapping, before she realized what it was.

Her initial instinct had been to recoil in horror, before she recalled something the Lieutenant had told her long ago.

_Watch the teeth._

Digging her thumbs into its eyes, she held the thing back safely from biting her with that solid grip, her strength equaling that of the sickly, half decayed, skeletal thing to make it a fair fight. Rolling over on top of the abomination, she removed her thumbs from its eyes and quickly wrapped her scapular around its head to cover up the gnashing mouth, thankful that it couldn't scratch her through the many layers of habit she wore.

Without a weapon, she struggled to think fast, her mind soaring through all the fights she had with her brothers, through every gory and violent thing the Lieutenant had taught her about defending herself and came up with dashing its head against the ground. When that failed to properly kill it, she used her elbow, smashing it in the face again and again until her elbow whinged and the thing stopped moving altogether.

She gave it a couple of last good slams with her elbow, before rolling off of it and up, holding her bleeding side.

It wasn't from the thing, she was sure of it, it had burned white hot pain when she was slammed into the tree.

"Oh Lord, thank you," she panted into the heavy rain filled forest. "Another day."

Crossing herself, she knelt down on the ground and tentatively unwrapped the poor things head, worried it could still be alive.

Underneath her scapular, it was quite dead, face smashed into an unrecognizable paste.

Grace took it by the hand and murmured, "my Jesus, by the sorrows Thou didst suffer in Thine agony in the Garden, in Thy scourging and crowning with thorns, in the way to Calvary, in Thy crucifixion and death, have mercy on the souls in purgatory, and especially on those that are most forsaken; do Thou deliver them from the dire torments they endure; call them and admit them to Thy most sweet embrace in paradise. Amen."

Gently crossing the poor things hands over its heart, she stood up and looked about to better get her bearings.

Which way did the wind come from? Which way did it bring her? Well, the bent trees told her which way it was blowing, so she headed the way it had come, picking her way carefully through the woods in her long habit, shucking most of it on her way through the woods in order to move better.

She limped across the highway, heading for the small town through the woods, stopping along the way to pick up a fallen sign post as a weapon in the event she would need one, before stepping into the forest.

Halfway through the woods, she had to rest, her ankle felt sprained and her side hurt like hell.

"Grace?!" Someone shouted in the woods.

She stood up. "Carol?!"

"Grace! Stay where you are, keep talking! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, little dinged up, but nothing to write home about!"

There was snapping a crashing in the woods.

"I'm sore as hell! Think my ankle is sprained," she called out to keep talking. "My side is gouged a little, nothing deep though. Thank the Lord."

Then Carol was emerging from the trees to her right, Merle and Cash with her.

"Grace! Oh God!" She ran up and wrapped her arms around Grace tightly. "I was so scared!"

"I'm okay," Grace assured her.

"You look like shit," Merle said. "What happened to that biter that went with you?"

"Oh, poor thing, I smashed his face in with my elbow," she explained, allowing Carol to help her walk through the woods.

"Yeah, girl! You're a bad assed bitch!" Cash exclaimed.

"Watch your language, honey," she warned him simply as they took off through the woods.

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****Rick****

For the second time in his life, he was holding a bloody child and running like the devil for Herschel.

Only unlike Carl who had fallen still after his shot, Annie was screaming like the mouth of hell was opening up before her, her good leg kicking out and everything as they ran for the infirmary where Herschel spent his days pouring over medical texts and keeping things organized.

He almost wished Annie would pass out, the girl had already clawed her way out from under the statue in her panic by the time they got outside. Her left leg was mangled and bloody, her body shaking from shock and she was screaming a non-stop piercing scream that drove deep into everyone's head.

Rick tried to remind himself that she was just a little girl, that she was scared and a little damaged inside, but he seriously found himself losing patience with the screaming.

Inside the infirmary, Herschel stood up as Rick and his train of concerned followers entered, Annie's scream like the wailing warning cry of an ambulance.

"What happened?" He demanded, immediately moving to a free bed where Rick lay Annie down.

"She fell out of the goddamned church window."

"What?"

"A statue fell on her," Glenn explained further, much calmer than Rick. "She was panicking and climbed up it and…the whole thing went out with her and landed on top of her."

Herschel immediately set to work looking Annie over, giving her a shot to calm her screaming.

Rick marched out of the infirmary, feeling like he had done his duty to a point. He stormed across the lawns, knowing full well that Glenn was right behind him.

"This would not have happened if the Lieutenant and Grace were here watching their damned kid!" He growled. "We have more to worry about then—"

"Rick," Glenn stepped in. "She could be seriously hurt."

Realizing how callous he sounded, Rick stopped and inhaled deeply. "We're not babysitters," he explained.

"You leave Judith with Beth all the time and the sisters," Glenn said with a frown. "Rick you're…you're angry for all the wrong reasons."

"Glenn, we should not have to sit here and wait for something to happen because everyone else ran off!"

"That's kind of what happens to the rest of us," Glenn pointed out, still annoying calm. "Welcome to the world of the redshirt."

"What?"

"You know…like Star Trek? Every—"

"I don't care, Glenn! Things are happening and we're stuck here…I hate not knowing where everyone is. It's dangerous to be off in all directions, scattered on the damned wind. You know, if I were still in charge—"

"But you're not," Glenn said. "No one is, really. We all have our duties and we know them, you're the only one who hasn't made peace with the fact that we don't really need leadership."

"Without leadership this group will fall apart. Might not be today or soon, but it will."

"Well, worry about what you will," Glenn stated softly, "I'm going to see if there's anything I can do to help Herschel with that little girl."

Sighing, Rick dropped his face to his hands and scrubbed hard, digging the heels of them into his eyes until he saw stars in the blackness behind his eyelids.

He knew he was being hard on Annie for her accident, but he had listened to that child freak out on more than one occasion since both Grace and the Lieutenant had left and was beginning to become too much.

All he wanted was for everyone to be back where they could be safest. He didn't mean to sound callous or hard, but someone had to point it all out. Someone had to say enough was enough and put their foot down.

Behind his eyes, the stars began to dance around visions of Annie's face before she fell, her wide eyes, her screaming mouth and he realized he wasn't at all angry at her, but at himself.

He used to be a good man, used to have more patience.

Thinking back on the scene, he realized he had been hard edged with the little girl. That he was yelling more than reasoning, that he was demanding, more than asking and he didn't know why.

She was just a little thing and he had lost patience with her.

Slamming his face into his hands a few times in frustration, he looked up and over to find Sister Elizabeth sitting under the peach tree with Judith in her arms.

The poor young woman looked frightened.

Rick was too disgusted to face either her or his daughter, not after what he did to Annie.

He stormed off in the direction of the church, passing by Mary Claire and Noah who were trying to pick up the heavy marble angel statue from the lawn with no success, into the heart of the church where he sat down in the front pew and glared up at Christ on his cross.

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******************************************************DarylDixon'sLover - Seriously, you are the fastest reader and reviewer I've ever had.**

******************************************************Merle's Right Hand - Or maybe everything went very, very right? Hmmmm?**

******************************************************Yazzy x - I'd still worry, if I were you. No one in this story is safe.**

******************************************************Happy Blue Ink -Merle and Cash would look up the mannequin skirt. As one of my reviewers called him, Cash is Merle Lite.**

******************************************************Lilone1776 - You know, funny thing about wind squalls, the come hard and fast, but in remote locations. True story. Nature is scary as hell. (Another true story, we call them plow winds where I live.)**

******************************************************Brazen Hussy - All action packed, but with Merle in it. So it's good action. Right? Right?**

******************************************************Fairies Masquerade - I like to screw things up and rebuild them. My favourite hobby. ^_^**

******************************************************Claire Randall Fraser - This is good to know. Hope you feel that way when this story ends.**

******************************************************Surplus Imagination - I could never kill a child in a story. I'm sorry, that's just too dark. So your wish comes true.**

******************************************************vickih - Your comment may have inspired the Mary Poppins reference in this chapter. So credit goes to you. XD**

******************************************************itsi3 - Dagnabit is perhaps my favourite word ever. Please use it more. ^_^**


	27. Crackers

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**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Crackers  
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****Rhoades****

They had been watching the convent for nearly twelve hours non-stop and he had to piss like a racehorse.

Tucked up in his spot in a large birch just edging the wall of the convent to the south side, Rhoades watched everything down below him in the convent yard, not moving, just observing.

He didn't see sign one of Fate or his boy Daryl, just people, people trying to survive in a new world forged from the ashes of the dead.

There wasn't a single thing he missed. Not the blonde girl and that boy in the rose garden, nor the geeky fellow with the glasses who stubbed his nuts on an improperly placed birdbath (he wasn't the first one of the day), not the woman in the hijab who pecked at a small handful of crackers in the rose garden, quietly observing the roses from her seat on the bench and he certainly didn't miss that little girl falling out of a second story church window. How could he? After the panic it caused.

The entire forest surrounding the convent was rife with soldiers, common Army grunts who were told to observe, to watch. No one was supposed to make a move unless they identified Lieutenant Vancoughnett and Daryl.

So far there was no sign of either one. No hint they even lived there.

He watched a blonde, gangly woman pass by on the wall for the sixtieth time that morning and figured she had forty more passes to go before her shift was finished. It seemed about one hundred was the average pass for people guarding the wall.

In the vegetable garden a couple of women paused their weeding to watch a scruffy man with pipe cleaner legs haul that poor girl into a long, separate building positioned against the west wall.

By his figuring, that was some kind of infirmary, since he saw a man with a missing leg and a crutch haunting the building.

Church, dormitory for the nuns and infirmary, he supposed were the main buildings, then a small bungalow off to the east of the church, and two sheds to the south of the infirmary, just west of the vegetable garden.

It was a nice little communal place.

He had taken a head count earlier, around nineteen people in the entire place, not counting the two that went off with that woman and the blond man, plus the man who snuck into the back of the truck before it took off.

That made twenty-four in total.

Could be more as far as he knew. Out there in Georgia somewhere, gathering, collecting, scrounging. Fighting to survive.

He admired them. A good percent of them were probably civilians, no military training and yet they survived. They were the strong ones.

It was a pity Morgan didn't see civilians as an asset to their group. She was so one minded about things, didn't look at the other point of view.

It was her loss. Their group were scroungers not farmers, they didn't have a milk cow tied up to their lawn or chickens in a moveable yard, they didn't grow crops or food, they scrounged.

It wouldn't last long, not the way she did it.

Her heart was in the right place when it came to the men, but she didn't look ahead far enough.

He both loved her and loathed her.

As the sun reached a point directly overhead, he slipped back slowly, very slowly from his camouflaged stand and down the tree, moving back slowly deeper into the woods where he couldn't be seen by those patrolling the walls of the convent.

He waited, looking about him at the Georgian woods. They were beautiful and still, like being in the most remote part of lake country, where no one ever went.

A brown thrasher sung far off and Rhoades returned it to the best of his ability, easing onto a stump and checking his gear quickly as Kochanski emerged from the woods, making a lot more noise than he would have liked.

"You stomp like grandma wearing her combat boots," Rhoades greeted softly.

"Yeah? Can you fly a Sea Stallion? Didn't think so, shut your face."

Rhoades smirked at his rifle. "I swear to God you little shit, I would shoot you in yours if I had the chance."

"Take your best whenever you want," Kochanski squatted on the ground next to him and said, "orders are to give them twenty-four more hours."

"To do what?"

"To live."

"Then what?"

"Then we wipe them and move in."

"Wipe them? They haven't done anything to us. Since when does the US Army kill off civilians at will?"

"I don't give a shit, Rhoades, I'm Air Force and only following orders. These people have a good set up here. It's remote, it's protected, it has buildings and wells and even a vegetable garden to feed the troops. Morgan wants it and she gets it."

"So, we're taking over Georgia, huh?"

"Tennessee doesn't serve our purposes anymore, there's no food left and we're exposed there."

"There's no food because we don't grow our own. We don't do anything but bully ex-soldiers, ex-Marines, ex-pilots into joining. Killing these people for their shit is bullshit and you know it."

"Survival is all about making choices, Rhoades. Sometimes we have to do the dirty work to get ahead. Do you have a problem with your orders, Rhoades?"

"No." He spat through clenched teeth.

"No? What?"

"No, sir." He said.

Kochanski smiled and clapped him hard on the shoulder. "See? We're all in this together. Twenty-four hours, that's…thirteen hundred hours, then we do what we have to do. I'll meet up with you here before hand, we'll strategize."

"Yes, sir."

Rhoades watched Kochanski move back through the woods in the direction he came with a frown.

"Semper go fuck yourself," he murmured to the man's back.

This wasn't how they had ever done things. Never. Morgan wouldn't, she had a disdain for the civilian groups, but he refused to believe she wanted to wipe them. Not when they hadn't done anything to her.

Looking back towards his post, he knew he had a decision to make. He couldn't get to Morgan in time to have a face to face with her, but he also knew he couldn't pull the trigger on women and children. Not when they were just trying to make it.

The devil and angel on his shoulder were both conflicted, but the angel was winning. She was tugging him hard down the path of righteousness.

He scoffed, remembering what the men in D barracks used to say. WWVD, what would Vancoughnett do?

Rubbing hard at his stubble, he sighed, before trudging off towards the first tree he needed to get to.

He whistled like a brown thrasher underneath all seven of them, before his group of Marines dropped down and met with him in the woods. They were all geared up for recon, faces painted, helmets covered in leaves and twigs.

"Thirteen hundred hours," Rhoades began softly, whispering in the woods, "and we've been given orders to wipe these people."

His Marines listened intently.

"We need to prepare for winter," he went on, playing Devil's advocate, "that's true. Colonel Barrie has hopes to settle in here, take what they got, but these are only people. Just people. They're not murderers or rapists, they're not anything like we've come up against. They're farmers and women and children and I suspect some of them once lived in that convent. They're religious people, nuns and priests, monks maybe, I don't know, I'm not Catholic, but I'm going to give you all the option, no hard feelings, no loss of loyalty to the Corps. I'm giving you the option to stay and pull that trigger on a child or a woman, or walk, right now. Go into the woods and just walk."

His Marines remained still, glittering eyes peering out of garish green and black and puce paint.

"What are you going to do, sir?" One of his men spoke up.

Rhoades settled his rifle on his back. "I'm going to walk," he said, adding, "right into that convent and let them know what's up. God knows these people could use all the guns they can get when it comes time to face trained men with semi-automatics and .50 calibres. You know Barrie has the fire power and you know Kochanski won't hesitate to use it. I won't hold it against any one of you to run off and tell him or any of the others my plans, I won't even hold it against you if one of your bullets finds me cold, but I'm giving you this choice."

"Those people's men burned down one of our supply sheds," another man pointed out.

"It was full of spare uniforms, McCreary. Hardly strategic warfare, probably a distraction so they could get the hell out of that fuckhole," his only female Marine pointed out in her easy way. "I'm with you, Sarge, this snipe hunt is full on bullshit and I can smell it," she said. "Semper fi, sir."

"Appreciate it, Malone," Rhoades said.

"Semper fi, sir," another Marine said. "With you, do or die."

There was a chorus of men joining in, leaving only McCreary on the fence. He shifted on his feet.

"Jim?" Rhoades urge.

"Fuck it, sir, if I'm going to die I'd rather go out in a kick ass bullet riddled way then dying of the squirts in my old age," he said finally. "But are we so sure they're going to just let us walk into their convent, sir?"

"No," Rhoades said. "They'll probably plug my ass with some lead. But shit, we can certainly try."

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When he was a boy, growing up in the Virginia wilds, his single mother (always taking time for her only child despite the fact that her hair had turned grey before her time and she was always tired) had instilled in him three important rules of life.

Think before you act, act only with your heart and mind as one and never, ever harm people who cannot defend themselves.

It was these thoughts that kept him walking up that muddy cattle trail. Didn't matter how much Morgan rested on his mind, his heart was pulling him down the right path and even somewhere in the very back of his mind, he was going down the right trail.

He didn't give a good goddamn what those asshole Army grunts were thinking in the trees where they were watching, he wasn't going to die a man who killed women and children, not nuns nor priests, nor any man who didn't want a fight.

Rhoades could easily imagine them in the trees, fingers twitching on their triggers, eyes narrowing in confusion. They didn't know what he was up to, they couldn't hear from their viewpoint and they weren't told that someone was about to approach the convent gate.

An old man with a dog collar and a 30-06 bolt action stood on the other side watching him approach with suspicious eyes.

"I'm unarmed," Rhoades assured him.

"That's a stupid thing to be in this day and age," the man returned, his tone was friendly enough, though his words smacked of truth.

"Well, you can see how serious I am then," Rhoades returned.

"What do you want, son?" The man asked.

"I want to talk to whoever's in charge."

"Huh, you and me both," the man said. "We don't exactly have a leader."

"At all?"

"We have people who take charge of things, but no one who really bosses us around…well, maybe Rick? But I think in your case, Sister Mary Agnes would be best."

"I'd like a word, then, with whoever you can nab."

The blonde woman on the wall approached and the priest turned to her, saying, "Sister Joan, could you fetch me Mary Agnes, we have a fellow at the gate…a," the priest's eyes scanned Rhoades up and down, "a Marine. I believe."

"You're good father, how'd you know?"

"I know Marines, son."

"Vancoughnett?"

The old man sniffed. "Why are you boys down here bothering us?"

"We don't mean to be a bother."

"Yeah, well, things were just getting back to peace and quiet."

"Yep," Rhoades agreed. "You know Fate and I, that's Lieutenant Vancoughnett, we used to be close. Real close."

"Oh?"

Carefully, showing the man that he had no ill intentions, Rhoades reached for a photograph he had kept with him since things went to hell, moving towards the man carefully, holding it out.

The priest took it and studied the picture.

Four young Marines sitting on a RG-33 transport eating falafel were blazoned on the piece of photographic paper in full colour emulsion, two of whom were stuffing falafel in each other's faces like newlyweds.

Those two were young Fate and his brother in arm's Otis and both wore smiles through the deep fried chickpea bites, both looked young and completely clueless about what was about to happen to the world.

Carefully, Rhoades withdrew another photograph and exchanged with the priest.

This one had three dashing young Marines in their blue dress, striking comical Charlie's Angels poses, hamming it up for the photographer, while a fourth stood in complete shame and embarrassment at the end.

The priest chuckled at this picture.

"Who are the other two boys?" The priest asked, handing the picture back.

"Bud and Lou, Lou didn't make it, Bud is MIA, I guess."

The priest took a long, hard look at Rhoades, before extending his hand to him through the gate. "Father O'Rourke, you're at Veil of Tears Convent."

"Nice to meet you, Father, I'm Otis Rhoades."

"Otis?" Someone spoke up from beside Father O'Rourke. "I knew an Otis once."

Rhoades leaned to one side to see that young, pretty blonde girl standing just behind the wall, out of sight.

"He died," she added.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."

She smiled and held up a pistol. "I know."

"Sneaky. What's your name, kiddo?"

"Beth."

"Beth, that's a pretty name." Finding a curvaceous woman wandering up, Rhoades nodded in greeting to her.

"I'm Mary Agnes, what can we do for you?"

"Mary Agnes, I'm Sergeant Rhoades USMC. I wanted to warn you that there are soldiers surrounding this entire place and they've been given orders to open fire in twenty four hours."

The woman processed this with a stony face, before saying simply. "What have we done to warrant this attack?"

"You've planned for winter, I suppose."

"Hm," she said. "And what do you want me to do with you?"

"Shoot me if you want, but I'd much rather you let me and my men in and we can help defend you the best we can."

"Ha," she scoffed. "I don't know about that…these soldiers, do they know what you're up to?"

"No, ma'am."

"Alright, do you have a way to communicate with your men?"

"I told them if I don't come back within the hour, resume watch in the trees and wait for my signal"

"Okay," the woman said. "What I'm going to do, is pretend to take you hostage, if you're telling the truth, you should be able to warn your men when we need them, if you're lying, you go to hell where liars burn."

"Fair enough."

The woman tsked. "This is really not the best time for us to be bombarded."

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience, ma'am." He said.

"Um-hm, here she comes."

Rhoades frowned and turned in time to catch a rifle butt to the face, he wasn't knocked out, but the pain of having his face smashed downed him.

The blonde woman from the wall smiled and trained her rifle on him. "Got a live one for once. Oh, I'm going to hell for enjoying that. Get inside, please?"

He was roughly pulled and shoved into the gate and inside the convent grounds, where he found a couple of weapons trained on him as he was marched off towards the church.

"Beth, you go distract Rick, he's on the warpath today," Mary Agnes said as Rhoades was pushed and shoved towards the church.

The young blonde woman nodded and jogged off, heading around the church for the cemetery.

It was strange, through the dizzying, blurred vision his smack to the face afforded him, but down on ground level in the convent, Rhoades could see how pretty it was. How well kept it was despite the times. The lawn was kept short, probably due to the cow and chickens, it was well raked and groomed, the lilacs and hydrangeas were clipped and kept closely tended to the walls of the buildings and the spot where the little girl had her accident was already cleaned up, the statue the only thing remaining, resting in the grass at a tilted, upright angle.

The church was higher, and towered over him as he was pushed inside.

It was an old church, stone and aged wood, the convent must have been around for years, probably a century or two.

He was eased onto a pew and promptly secured there with whatever the nuns could find, the blonde sitting at his side and daubing at his gashed eyebrow gingerly.

"Sorry," she said. "I was aiming for the back of your head, but you turned around."

"Well, I was warned."

"Would have thought you'd duck," she said.

"Always regret not ducking," he teased.

"There," she stepped back to stand over him with Mary Agnes. "I'll get you a cold compress to put on that."

"Thank you," he said.

Left alone with Mary Agnes, Rhoades eyed her as she eyed him warily with cool, deep brown eyes.

"I hope you're as good a man as I suspect," she said. "But I hope you're also wrong about this attack."

"I'm hoping the men will refuse," Rhoades said. "They're just men, after all, they're not looking for revenge or blood, they're just doing what they think is their duty. I thought I was doing right too, at one point. But…I couldn't ever betray Fate, not him. I don't care if he hates me for the rest of our lives, I couldn't be the man who killed him, who killed his people."

"I forgive you," Mary Agnes said, sitting down, far enough from him to be safe, but close enough to be a comfort. "But it's not me you need forgiveness from."

"I think God and I have an understanding."

"Not God, Mr. Rhoades, the Lieutenant."

Rhoades chuckled. "Yeah. Well, let's hope we all live so I can beg his forgiveness."

"Let's hope Grace and Carol make it back safely, or he may never forgive you."

"Who's Grace and Carol?"

"Grace is his…she's going to marry him."

Rhoades smiled. "She's the woman? His woman?"

"Yes."

"I hear he has a little girl."

Mary Agnes fell sombre. "He does."

"Is she here?"

"She…she had an accident this morning."

"That little girl that fell out of the window? Why'd she fall?"

"She suffers unrest."

Rhoades was silent. "Fate doesn't know she fell?"

"No."

"Is she alright?"

"I don't know. Herschel's doing his best, but he's just a vet."

"Marine?"

"Veterinarian."

"Oh. Is there anything I can do?"

"Pray?"

"I've never really been one for prayer, but I'll try anything once."

"Just put your hands together and talk to God, everything is in his hand's now."

Rhoades shrugged and pressed his palms together, opening one eye to peek at the woman beside him as she bowed her own head in prayer.

"It doesn't work if you're not paying attention," she ordered him, without opening her own eyes.

He smirked and closed them again, praying earnestly for Fate's little girl and for the man himself, for his friend Daryl, for their women, for all the innocent people.

"I'm kicking serious ass on this prayer thing, Sister," Rhoades said. "I should be a priest."

"I'll go sign you up," she teased, getting to her feet and moving to the front of the church.

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**********************************************************Fairies Masquerade - I kind of want this chapter of Glenn dropping truth bombs, think from now on he's going to call Rick on his bullshit more often.**

**********************************************************DarylDixon'sLover - Did Rick ever really have it? ^_^**

**********************************************************Surplus Imagination - The reality of one of them having twins is pretty rare, but I'm fighting hard to keep them both alive until they have some babies, I promise. I was thinking a council would be best, maybe a council of elder's, people over a certain age and they all have final say in matters.**

**********************************************************melniewn - Ah, can't get anything past you, hm? ^_^**

**********************************************************Merle's Right Hand - I thought a fellow Trekkie would appreciate a little ST reference.**

**********************************************************Yazzy x - I would worry too. This is going to be a rough story.**

**********************************************************Brazen Hussy - Well, the chapters could be like this with no Merle. ^_^ The thing about Rick that I find hilarious is how much I either really love him or really hate him. He's a hard character to do one or the other with.**

**********************************************************Claire Randall Fraser - Eep, sorry! I don't mean to cause stress! But I promise I will do justice to these characters if and when they die, I swear. I'll do it gently. ^_^**

**********************************************************itsi3 - ...for now. Ehehe.**


	28. Squirrel

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**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Squirrel**

****Daryl****

They were sitting against the wall furthest from the damage, Daryl hugging his knees to his chest, the Lieutenant sorting through his pack and idly putting things into piles.

The rain had stopped only a few minutes before, but it was still overcast and grey light that shone in through the narrow basement windows.

"You should get rid of some of that shit," Daryl suggested. "You sound like a jar of old teeth when you walk."

"Who keeps teeth in a jar?" Fay asked, dropping another handful of ketchup packets into the massive pile.

"Merle."

"Why?"

"Trophies."

"I both love your brother and worry about him."

Daryl scoffed. "You love Merle?"

"I love everyone, but don't tell Merle."

"Yeah, he already thinks you're a full on fire homo."

"Gay."

"What?"

"PC term."

"Fuck PC, who's coming after me in this day and age?"

"Well, men with guns, rapists, murderers, dead people…probably a bunch of squirrels have it out for you too so I wouldn't count them out."

Daryl snorted, before laughing a little. "Squirrel's damned good eating."

"Not the way you prepare them."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Let me put it to you this way, _cabri_, you cook a squirrel like an ancient Egyptian prepares their dead for the afterlife."

Daryl pulled a face, and picked up his crossbow, fiddling with it idly. "Yeah, well you play the piano like Buddy Rich."

"Buddy Rich didn't—oh, I see what you did there."

They fell into a comfortable silence.

"I'm getting old," Fay murmured after a bit, rubbing his knees.

"Yeah," Daryl agreed. "You have grey hairs."

Reaching over, Fay tugged playfully at the grey in Daryl's scruff and laughed.

They waited again in painfully slow silence, before Fay said. "You know, I've been working on my Georgian drawl, wanna hear it?"

"When have you been working on it?"

"Why do you think it takes me so long when I go into the woods to piss?"

"You practice your Georgian accent when you piss?"

"Well, mostly I make fun of yours."

"You dick."

"Want to hear it?"

"I would hate to."

"Fine," Fay said, dragging a long piece of rope from the very bottom of his pack and scrounging for missed things in the sad, limp pack.

Daryl stared hard at the man. He was expecting him to keep chatting away. Truth was, Daryl just, well he kind of missed Carol. Besides, they were stronger together than apart. Watching Fay coil the rope again properly and tuck it back into the pack, Daryl scowled, still waiting for something more from the talkative Cajun. But he got nothing, just a mild frown as the Lieutenant counted his ketchup packets. He was suddenly too quiet, too withdrawn.

"I just got a feeling," Fay finally confessed after counting his packets and tucking them into various pockets on the front of the pack, "deep in my gut, that something bad has happened."

"You psychic now?"

Fay quietly shook his head. "My _Mamere_ used to say if your devil ear rings, that's the sound of mourning bells tolling."

"Devil ear?"

"Left one," Fay murmured, spitting three times onto the floor at his side, before going back to putting away crap from his pack.

"Your left ear is ringing, because you shoot left, dumb ass," Daryl snapped, trying to play off his gut feeling in order to reaffirm with himself that nothing bad could or would happen to anyone. "You probably fried your ear drum with all that shooting you do."

"Maybe," Fay said, still quietly packing up his stuff. "But you go after our girls if you want, I think I want to sneak home first."

"Sneak home?"

"Gut instinct," Fay explained.

"Cajun witchcraft," Daryl corrected.

They were quiet again, Fay still packing away his crap, Daryl still fiddling with his crossbow.

"Hey," Daryl said, in the hopes of lightening the mood and changing the subject. "Let's hear you try your tongue at Georgian."

Fay smirked a little sadly at his pack as he closed it up. "Carrrrllll," he drawled slowly, "don't talk, think."

Daryl scoffed. "Who is that? Rick?"

"Yeah, what do you think?"

Shrugging, Daryl dropped his legs so that they stuck straight out in front of him. "Needs a little work. But I thought you were going to do my accent."

"Merle," Fay exclaimed. "Shut yer mouth or I'll stomp yer ass, dipshit!"

"I don't sound like that," Daryl protested.

"You most certainly sound like that," the Marine argued. Grinning, Fay moved in closer to Daryl.

"Yeah, well, you sound like some limey bulldog trying to do an American accent," Daryl griped.

"Then that's what you must sound like, because I nailed it."

"Nope."

"Okay, _couyon_, try mine then."

"What? No."

"You know you wanna."

"No, I don't."

A low, playful whistle from the window and an axe appeared, followed by a bag of Cheetos dropping into the bottom of the space, before Michonne slipped inside with a proud smile.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've seen in hours," the Lieutenant exclaimed, snatching the bag of Cheetos out of Michonne's hand and kissing the plastic affectionately. "How'd you find them?"

"I have my ways," she said, handing Daryl the axe. "Abandoned gas station about two miles down the road, they were shoved up under the counter in the looter's hurry."

"I don't even care if they're stale as old ass," the Lieutenant stated. "I'm still eating these tasty orange devils. Thank you, honeychild."

She pushed up onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek kindly on her way past them, heading for the piano to drag it over for them to stand on. "You're welcome, Lieutenant," she said.

"Grace better be nicer to me, because I think I'm in there," the Marine teased in a low tone to Daryl.

"No, you're not," Michonne called out.

"Why do you have to bust my ass? Can't we just get along?" Fay shouted playfully at her, earning him a rare, beaming Michonne smile cast over the woman's shoulder that brightened the room.

Climbing up onto the piano with the axe, Daryl knocked the ceiling, looking for the joists. He figured if he could hack away at the crap between them, they could pull themselves up onto the main floor and get out that way.

Figuring where the joists were roughly, he took the axe and began to carefully swing it up, closing his eyes against the crap that was falling down from the ceiling.

"It's pretty rough out there," Michonne said as Daryl swung away at the ceiling. "Must have been a hell of a wind storm we had. We're lucky we had shelter, I saw a lot of trees uprooted along the treeline."

"I hope it was just a local thing," Fay said. "Hope it didn't hit the quarry."

The Marine didn't have to add his concern about their girls being out in that wind, because Daryl and he exchanged a quick look between Daryl swinging the axe and both men knew the other was thinking it.

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****Carl****

They had waited out the wind in the shelter of the vehicles left at the quarry. It hit harder in the open spaces around the steep embankment of the quarry, where trees had been pushed over and limbs strewn about like remnants of junk in the aftermath of a rowdy teenage house party.

He met up with the others in the middle of the circle of vehicles in the pouring rain to hold conference.

"Well, Carl, it's your show, what do you want to do?" Ryan asked.

Carl licked his bottom lip and eyed the sky. He wasn't sure if the wind was just the beginning or if that was all they had coming to them. If they got a twister by evening, even if it was one of those tame ones, they'd be exposed up high in the quarry region, out in the open beside it as they were.

But they might not get anything more.

Still, this was his mission and the people were under his command, he didn't want to fuck up on leading one of his first real missions.

"Mr. Delgado's people are closer to us than home," he said slowly. "We'll see if they'll take us in for the night, just in case, then we'll move out again in the morning."

"What about the diesel?" Andrea asked. "We're almost dry."

Carl nodded. "I think Ryan's suburban has enough to limp us to Delgado's, if we can all cram in there." He glanced at Ryan to see if he made the right decision and found the older man nodding slightly.

"Alright," Ryan said.

"What about Michonne and the men?" Tyreese asked.

"We'll leave them a note, if they come back, they'll know where we went." Again he glanced at Ryan for silent confirmation from his face whether he made the right decision.

This time Ryan was frowning and Carl cleared his throat about to back pedal his decision, before Ryan cut him off quickly.

"Alright, girls, you heard him, let's get loaded up."

As the others began to grab what they needed from their vehicles, Carl approached Ryan who moved to make space in the back of the suburban for the two extra passengers.

"Ryan?" Carl asked tentatively.

"Yep?" He asked.

"…it's okay, right? Going to find shelter for tonight?"

"Seems like the logical choice."

"It's just…I mean, you think it's the right decision, right?"

"Sure, better safe than sorry."

"But you were…seemed like you were angry with my choice."

"What?" Ryan stopped moving things around in the back of the suburban and turned to Carl in confusion. "No, not angry at all."

"But you think it's the right decision?"

"It doesn't matter what I think, Carl, you're running the show," Ryan clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. "You shouldn't worry about what people think, just worry about doing the right thing."

Carl nodded. "I just thought you were angry."

Ryan beamed. "Since when do you care what I think?"

Shrugging, Carl bowed his head.

"So this Delgado, that's the leader of my baby brother's group, right?" Ryan asked, shoving aside a tent, placing it on top of a cooler that contained their ammunition.

"Yeah, he's a nice Marine, all his people are nice."

"And they'll be okay with us? I mean, Gwen and the girls and I?"

Carl nodded. "Sure, Delgado really respects your brother. They relied heavily on him during the harder times. I'm sure they'll take us in for the night at least. Then we can get back to the mission."

"Fair enough," Ryan said. "Want to drive?"

Shifting on his feet, thinking Ryan was teasing him, Carl frowned.

A set of keys jangled under his nose and Carl looked up at Ryan who was smirking.

"Really?"

"You're the one who knows where we're going."

Carefully Carl took the keys. His father had shown him how to drive during the winter, but no one ever let him do it. They were all convinced he was going to speed around showing off and get someone killed.

"Better watch my girl though," Ryan said, touching the suburban affectionately. "She's got an ass on her that won't quit. So she doesn't stop on a dime."

Carl nodded.

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When they pulled up Delgado's tree lined driveway, Carl had to pull the suburban around a few heavy limbs that had fallen from the trees into their path, driving on the grassy side of the lane, near the oak's as the vehicle limped up.

Pulling to a stop in the middle of the farmyard, right under Kowalski's giant lookout tree, Carl hopped out as Delgado and the others approached from where they were repairing the damage left by the rain and wind.

"Carl Grimes," Delgado greeted. "What brings you out this way?"

"We were nearby when the wind hit," Carl said. "Your place is closer than home, figured you might be kind enough to let us hole up here for the night before we head on."

Delgado eyed Gwen and Ryan quietly.

"You pick up more strays, Carl?" Delgado asked.

Ryan stepped forward. "Ryan Kowalski, sir. I was told you had my baby brother staying here for a while."

Tossing the hammer in his hand, Delgado frowned, shifted on his feet, and then eyed Ryan hard, studying his every facial feature with scrutinizing eyes that seemed to be searching for something in Ryan's face.

"Yeah, you look like him," Delgado finally said. Scratching the back of his neck with the claw of the hammer, the Marine sighed and motioned to the house with a jerk of his head. "Well, you all better come inside then."

It was only then that Carl noticed St. James hopping down from the porch roof where he was helping one of Delgado's women replace some missing shingles.

"St. James," Carl breathed. "What are you doing here?"

"Grace came for me and Mrs. Douglas," he explained, eyeing Ryan quietly.

Carl scowled. "Why?"

"Come on, Carl," Delgado said. "Let's get you all inside. We'll explain there."

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Carl stood just behind Ryan as he sat beside his brother on the bed, watching as the man lovingly stroked his brother's hair out of his battered face, long fingers trembling as they moved over the bruises and stitches.

"Who did this to him?" Ryan asked.

"Some soldiers from Tennessee," Delgado said. "That's all we know. We don't know the why or the how, but…I'm sorry."

"Soldiers from Tennessee?" Ryan asked absently, still gingerly touching his brother's face with shaking hands.

"There's this military group there, they've been giving our people shit," St. James clarified. "Apparently they're after our Lieutenant and Daryl."

"Soldiers," Ryan murmured again.

Carl could see he was in shock over his brother's state.

Gwen stepped forward and ran her hands comfortingly through Ryan's hair, before pulling him to her.

Stepping back from the scene as Ryan began to break down crying, Carl turned on his heel and ran out of the room, his hatred for everyone and everything bubbling up again like a black, thick, venom in the back of his throat. He wished he could spew that venom, spit it in the face of everyone who even dared look at him, watch their faces melt and their eyes roll back in their head.

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He was sitting on the front porch stewing in his hatred, his entire body taking up the porch swing so that no one could join him, stubbornly glaring at the men and women cleaning up the farm around him, wishing they would just die and end everything.

If everyone was dead, they'd be happier, they could just walk around like idiots all day, blissfully unaware of what they were.

Ryan finally emerged from the house looking rough, looking emotionally drained, but still managing to look strong and confident, standing at the top of the steps and taking in the place with quick, sharp eyes. Those eyes landed on Carl after a long time of studying the farm and despite Carl's warning glare about joining him, Ryan wandered over, tapping Carl's legs in quiet request for a spot to sit.

Carl kept his legs in place stubbornly, glowering up at Ryan.

The Marine grabbed Carl's legs and dropped them heavily onto the porch planks, before slumping onto the swing at his side.

Neither one spoke for the longest time, before Ryan carefully began, clearing his throat.

"It's dark," Ryan began calmly, "Gwen and I are talking bullshit about movies of all things, driving down a highway in northern Tennessee. She's firmly set on the belief that Gary Cooper was the greatest actor ever. Talking about Meet John Doe, when he's in the bell tower at the end, having finally understood how important his role in the entire thing was. She's talking about how she cried so hard during that scene and she couldn't understand why exactly, but she feels it's because Gary wasn't acting, he was on some higher plane of performing and I'm arguing with her that it's actor's like Paul Newman and Steve McQueen who really brought the acting chops out on screen. Stupid things, but important in the moment, you know? Simone is sleeping in the backseat, Phoebe is reading with the aid of a flashlight, but I know she's listening, Phoebe's always listening, doesn't miss a thing.

We're half a mile from Springfield and this vehicle is parked across the road ahead, so I slow down, ready to hit the ditch and go around if I have to, back up and retrace our steps if necessary.

As I slow, another vehicle pulls out of the woods behind us and pulls across the road and these military men hop out and approach.

I don't want to scare the girls, so I get my pistol in my left hand, wedged down between the seat and the door in the event I need it and let these three men approach us.

They're dressed like soldiers, but in this day and age it's not hard to appropriate the look, so we talk.

'Where are you going?' One asks.

'Georgia' I said.

'Where you coming from?' Another asks, he's standing by Gwen's door, looking in on the girl's, shining a flashlight into their eyes, scaring them, you know?

'Does it matter?'

Carl, you know how you get that feeling. That itch in the back of your head, like something's crawling there, like something isn't right. I got that feeling looking at these men. I don't know what they had planned with us, but I didn't like the way they looked at the girls or Gwen and at that point in my life they were all I had. They kept me sane.

I love those girls, Carl. I don't care, they've come all this way with me because they thought I would keep them safe from people who wanted to hurt them and I take that very seriously.

So these men, they ask me to exit the suburban and follow them back to their truck. Like I didn't know what they were up to, so opened fire and I didn't stop shooting them until they were still on the road. I can't even remember getting out of the suburban, but I must have and…I killed them all, so fast, so easy.

Maybe they didn't want hurt us, I don't know. I couldn't risk it. Men like that, at night, doing things the way they did them…suspicious shit.

When I come back from killing these men, I told Gwen I wanted to find their people, if they had people and burn them all.

Gwen, the pure heart that she is, talked me out of it.

I swear to you, Carl. If these men who hurt my baby brother are of the same group of men who I gunned down on that road, then I won't ever forgive myself for my mercy."

Carl was silent, staring at the movement around them, the peaceful farm in the aftermath of the storm.

"Do you still hate everyone and everything, Carl? Or just the darkness that's passed over us in this place and time?"

When Carl didn't answer, Ryan nodded and set the porch swing moving with his foot.

"Do you really think I'm crazy?" Carl asked him after a moment.

"Carl, we're all a little fucked up." Ryan pointed out. "Some of us just hide it better than others. Better find a place to rest your head tonight, looks like we might not get that twister, but there's a storm coming."

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**************************************************************Lilone1776 - I understand that anger. Colonel Barrie is making women everywhere look bad, really, she's just the worst.**

**************************************************************Merle's Right Hand - That's because a lot of people will die, isn't it?**

**************************************************************Brazen Hussy - I don't understand why Dusty...oh, I get it...ha-freakin'-ha. ^_^ (Actually, that made me laugh pretty hard...and you might get your wish.)**

**************************************************************itsi3 - I'm glad. I hope he stays alive for your sake then.**

**************************************************************Yazzy x - That's probably the wisest way to go about Rhoades, hm? With a grain of salt.**

**************************************************************vickih - Mary Agnes should run the show more often.**

**************************************************************Surplus Imagination - I imagine there will be hell to pay when Daryl and the Lt. get out of that basement.**


	29. Teeth

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**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Teeth**

****Carol****

"If we don't get this bandaged properly you won't be much use to us," Carol explained, gingerly examining Grace's ankle as the dainty woman perched on the counter of the dress shop where Merle hoisted her.

For about half an hour she was going over Grace, checking for bites or claw marks, but came up with a lot of bumps and scrapes, but thankfully nothing deadly. Both dressed in their casual wear again to avoid more gusty incidents in the event of wind.

Her ankle was swelling up fast though and Carol knew Grace wouldn't be able to just sit around while things happened, so she figured if they taped it tight, it would be fine until they got done with what they needed to do.

"What do you want us to do? Go home and get me fixed up?" Grace teased. "We've come this far."

"Well, we could try looking around for some tensor bandages, but it might be faster to just go back home and have Herschel wrap it up properly. Stay there the night in case this storm gets worse, and then try again in the morning."

Grace looked over at Merle and Cash. "What do you boys think?"

Merle stepped close to the broken window and peered out at the sky. "I don't think this storm will become much more than God dropping his balls on Mother Nature's chin, but Carol has a point. If you're determined to do this peace talk thing and it goes sour, then you might want to be able to shake your tail feathers without limping too much on the farewell."

Cash looked long and hard at Merle, before turning to Carol and Grace and saying, "yep."

"Shut up," Merle snarled.

"Well, short of my dislike for Merle's analogy about God and His…holy unmentionables, I'll listen to reason and agree to returning home, but we're not letting Mr. Rick Grimes sway us from our course." Grace said, slipping off the counter with the help of Carol and Cash.

"God's holy unmentionables slammed out a universe according to the bible, Grace-girl, that's fact," Merle argued, helping them get out of the shop.

"You are a devil of a blasphemer, honey."

Merle beamed broadly at her. "Yeah, but you love me. You have to, it's in your Catholic nature."

"You forget, Mr. Dixon, that I'm unmarried and three months pregnant with a swamp giant's baby, I don't think Catholic nature applies to me anymore."

"You could have been three months pregnant with my baby," he pointed out, helping Carol load their rifles behind the seat.

"You're right, I should be thankful for small miracles," Grace pointed out.

"That's just unbelievably rude," Merle objected.

Reaching out, Grace touched Merle affectionately on the side of the face and climbed into the truck with his aid.

Carol watched this scene with affectionate eyes and a small, pleased smile on her face.

It died when she caught the sound of a vehicle nearby and she hissed, "get down," to the others.

No one managed to duck in time as a khaki jeep turned the corner of the street, pulling down it slow and steady.

Carol clutched her rifle tight, prepared to defend herself if she had to as the jeep pulled to a neat stop beside their truck and five soldiers piled out.

There was a few seconds that passed as the two groups stared each other down quietly, soaking in the threat.

"Well," one the men greeted. "Should we be worried?" Slowly, making a show of putting his rifle on his back, he approached them. "Maybe," he said, eyeing Merle's blade as it was flashed, put between Carol and the approaching soldier, "maybe not," he added, studying Carol's swollen stomach from around Merle.

"Back off," Merle warned. "And you won't be hurt."

"Fair enough," the man said, stepping back, eyeing Grace as she emerged from the truck on the driver's side, using the door to shield her from the men. "We're just passing through, don't want any trouble."

"You're from Tennessee?" Carol asked, moving around Merle's body shield to address the man who seemed like he was in charge.

The man studied her again, critically, with pale green eyes and a delicate furrow to his brow. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked like he was missing out on more than a few night's good rest.

"Sounds like you've come across our men before," he finally said.

"It's not easy to avoid your men," Carol said. "They've taken over our land."

The soldier blinked. "I'm Major O'Hara, US Army."

"O'Hara?" Merle rasped. "As in Scarlett?"

The man turned his haunted eyes on Merle. "As in four generations of O'Hara men serving the US Army, as in I've had more guns thrust in my face than a man working the counter of a 7-11, as in I've earned my stripes through hard work and dedication and I'd be pleased if you'd show me a little more respect, civilian."

"Naw, it's not my style," Merle returned casually. "Think I'll stick to imagining you in green velvet prancing up and down Tara worrying about cotillions and saying 'fiddle-dee-dee'."

"Merle," Carol warned firmly. Gathering herself together, she levelled her chin and eyed the soldier. "With all due respect, sir, your men have been uncomfortably familiar with our territory and you have to admit yourself that—"

"Were they respectful, ma'am?" Major O'Hara asked.

"I'm sorry?"

"Did they hurt or attack any of your people?"

"Your people took hold of two of ours who were passing through Tennessee and wouldn't release them."

Major O'Hara quirked a straight, dark blond eyebrow and angled his head to face her. "Did they?" He glanced to his side, to a black soldier who stood only a few inches higher than the Major.

The black soldier shook his head. "I'm not aware of taking anyone captive, sir."

"You'll have to forgive our confusion, ma'am," Major O'Hara said. "We just got back from a two month scouting mission in Kentucky and were told to head down south to Georgia, meet up with the troops. We're a little unprepared for what's going on." He eyed Carol from under his stern brow. "Are we enemies?"

It was a question asked earnestly, but with a hint of humour.

Caro swallowed thickly. "I hope not. We don't want to make enemies. We were hoping to enter into some peace talks with your leader."

"These men of yours, the one's detained, they were ex-military?"

"One was a Marine," Carol said.

Major O'Hara nodded as if he expected nothing less. "Of course. Good looking man?"

"What?"

"Doesn't matter," O'Hara said. "I think I understand the situation now." He eased his posture, tucking his hands behind his back. "So? Peace talks. You would do best talking to a brick wall when it comes to Colonel Barrie."

"We need to try," Grace broke in, moving from behind the driver's side door.

Major O'Hara looked her up and down, assessing her as a possible threat, before nodding. "I can't fault you for wanting to do that. No one likes being targeted."

"It's not that," Carol said. "These men are important to us."

The man looked her over again, eyes lingering on her stomach.

"Lieutenant Fredricks?" O'Hara barked suddenly, not taking his eyes off Carol. "Take the men and scope out the town for collectables."

"Sir?"

"It's okay, I'm not in any real danger."

Reluctantly the men backed up and spread out, moving away to start digging through the junk thrown about by the wind. O'Hara didn't once take his eyes off Carol, not until he inhaled and jerked his head in the direction of the back of the truck.

She followed him, Grace limping along behind, Merle and Cash hovering nearby, close enough to be protective, but far enough to give them their space.

Easing onto the tailgate, Major O'Hara sniffed and helped Carol up beside him, Grace moving to sandwich him.

"Okay, so which one of these men is yours?" O'Hara asked Carol. "The Marine?"

"What?"

"You seem like a smart lady," he went on. "In your condition, you wouldn't go far from home without it being personal."

"The Marine is mine," Grace said.

O'Hara turned and looked at her long and quietly, before saying, "congratulations. Marines are fine catches from what I hear. You have any children?"

"One and another on the way," Grace explained.

"Boy or girl?"

"Little girl, six years old."

O'Hara turned his eyes on Carol. "And you?"

"Just the one on the way."

"What about you, Major? Do you have family?" Grace asked.

"No," he said. "But we're not here to discuss my shortcomings, I want to know what these men are worth."

"Why?" Carol demanded, a little insulted by the term 'worth' when it came to human lives.

"Because if I'm going to stick my neck out for you, I need to know what it's all for. What are these men worth in dollars and dimes?"

"Everything," Carol said.

Grace nodded firmly in agreement.

The man pulled his helmet over his haunted eyes and sat still for a moment in deep thought, his hand moving to rub at his temple under the helmet.

Carol and Grace exchanged a look around him, before Grace tentatively reached out to touch his hand.

He flinched away from the contact and slipped off the tailgate to stand before them, striking a very fine military pose, chest out, stomach in, shoulder's squared, chin level with the ground. Standing before them, Carol could see he was taller than Daryl, but only a few inches shorter than the Lieutenant and didn't have the powerful build of the Marine. In fact Major O'Hara stood quite lithe and gangly. There was strength, but not the power of the Lieutenant, more toned and ropey.

"My father always said 'as far as you're concerned, Henry, your superior officer is God'," he explained, eyeing them stoically. "But my mother always said 'your job is not to bully the innocent, but to defend them'. Who would you say is right in this situation?"

"Well," Carol began. "Of course I'd say your mother to benefit our own purpose, but I could understand your need to be loyal to the Colonel."

O'Hara's eyes flickered to Grace. "And you?"

"I won't lie, but your mother seems like the kind of woman whose advice I'd follow."

"Tell me about your people," O'Hara moved to sit on the tailgate again, keeping clear of touching either woman. "Inside and out. Are they good people?"

"We're made up of the best," Carol began. "We're just good people who've managed to survive and we're still managing, fairly well."

"And your leader?"

"We don't have one, exactly," Grace said. "We have people in charge who decide what needs to get done, but no one who really bosses us around. We all have our tasks and we all do them to the best of our ability."

"And what did you do before the infected came, ma'am?"

"I was a nun."

"Okay," he turned his head to face Carol, "and you?"

"I was a housewife and mother."

"You said—"

"She wasn't his and she passed away."

"How old?"

"Not old enough."

Major O'Hara mulled this over, before nodding. "Okay. You ladies ever kill a man?"

Carol and Grace looked at each other.

"I'm not talking one of these infected, I mean a living, breathing, thinking man," he clarified. "Look me in the eye now."

Looking deep into the man's eyes, Carol shook her head. "No."

"You?" He turned to Grace.

"No, sir."

"And your men? They kill anyone? I can smell lies now, don't play me."

It was Grace who answered first. "Yes, sir."

Carol nodded reluctantly. "Yes."

"Major O'Hara, they…they were defending our people from rapists and murderers," Grace hurried to add.

"These men of yours," he went on, ignoring her plea, "they drink?"

"Daryl doesn't like to, not in this day and age," Carol said.

"The last time Lafayette drank was after we lost a lot of people, he dipped into the communion wine," Grace admitted.

"They ever hit you?" He asked.

Carol could see a muscle in his strong jaw twitch as he asked this, but his face otherwise remained impassive.

The question stung Carol a little, she supposed it was because she couldn't conceive Daryl ever doing it, because it was something she never associated him with doing and it hurt her to have to imagine a scenario where he might, because she kept putting Ed there in Daryl's place and thinking of Ed always stung.

"No, sir, he would never," Grace answered.

"No," Carol replied softly.

"You know," O'Hara began carefully, "my daddy used to hit, hard, but he always had a reason. Swallowed my fair share of baby teeth as a boy, didn't settle well in my stomach. I can sniff out people who've been hit," he turned his eerie eyes on Carol. "And you've been hit."

"Not by Daryl," Carol defended firmly.

"Your…it was a man before Daryl, right? Couldn't have been your father, you don't look the type for it to have been your father."

"My husband," she said softly, knowing Grace didn't know about Ed, not that much.

"Daryl kill him?"

"No, he was bit."

"Okay," easing off the tailgate with a deep breath, O'Hara turned to the both of them, folding his arms guardedly. "Well, I'd like to meet with these men of yours. Suss them out."

"We don't know where they are," Grace admitted.

"We wouldn't let you near them, even if we did," Carol stated.

"Ma'am, no offence, but there are three men from Tennessee I'd trust to help your boys and I'm one of them. You want those men safe, you'd do better with letting me talk to them face to face."

"We were told Rhoades would be a good man to talk to, as well," Carol said.

"Rhoades, yes, he's alright, but I don't know where he is and to be honest, I don't know much about what's happened since I've been gone. All I know is we're in Georgia and we're waiting to make contact with our people. What you have, ladies, is me. Now what are you going to do with this opportunity?"

"If you keep insisting that we arrange a meeting between you and our men, then we'll walk," Carol stated.

"Ma'am, I'm not trying to railroad you, what we have is a situation and what I'm attempting is a peaceful resolution, you can trust me or you keep grasping at straws in the hopes of coming across Rhoades."

It was Grace who got off the tailgate and approached him with her heavy limp, her hand moving to take his firmly.

"Do you swear to God you won't hurt anyone?" She pleaded.

He politely withdrew his hand with a small furrow to his brow and mild panic in his eyes. "I don't believe in God, ma'am, it would be an empty oath. You're going to have to take my word as an honourable man."

"How do we know you're honourable?" Carol asked.

"You'll have to take my word on that as well," he pointed out.

Slipping down from the tailgate, Carol approached him. "If you want to meet our men, you do it on our terms, on our turf, and only you. Deal?"

"Fair enough."

Slowly, she extended her hand to shake on their arrangement, unsure if he'd take it. It seemed to bother him to be touched.

He eyed her hand like it was something dangerous, jutting out at him offensively, before reaching into his pocket for a pair of thin leather gloves and pulling one on, carefully, hesitatingly slipping it into hers and shaking quickly.

"It's not you, ma'am, you're lovely," he explained, blinking rapidly as he removed the glove and put it away, losing his cool exterior only enough to open and close his hand a few times. "It's a thing. Used to have it under control...things just spiral out of our hands."

"Well," Carol said gently. "At least I know how serious you are about helping us, then, if you're willing to get over your thing to shake on it."

He ignored her, looking at Grace who stood quietly watching everything. "Okay," he said, tucking his hands behind his back, "let me tell my men what's going on, and then you can take me wherever you want and we'll do this thing."

"Thank you," Carol said. "I can't tell you how much we appreciate your help."

"I'm not promising miracles, ma'am," he said, quirking an eyebrow at her. "I'm going to try my best, but sometimes our best isn't enough."

"The mere fact you're hearing us out is all we wanted," Grace said.

He looked her up and down. "Are you injured?"

"Nothing serious, thank heavens," she said.

"It's just you've been limping around here. Did you get caught in that wind?"

"Yes. It took me for a bit of a ride."

"We hid out in a basement nearby."

Carol looked to Grace. "Um…are you…is this small talk?"

"I don't know where my men went, just waiting for them to come back," he explained. "I'm not good with small talk. Sorry."

"Oh, okay."

They stood around for a moment in awkward silence.

"So…where are you from, originally?" Carol asked.

"Everywhere. Army brat, moved a lot." He cleared his throat. "The longest I spent in one place was Indiana, there was an all boy's military academy there. ROTC, you know."

They were quiet again.

"Any brothers or sisters?" Grace asked.

"Nope."

They waited for a few more minutes.

"You, ah…you ladies have names? I don't think I caught them," he said haltingly.

"Oh, sorry, I'm Carol, this is Grace, and that's Merle and Cash," she introduced, pointing to the two men who lingered nearby.

"Got it." He awkwardly scuffed the road with his boot, before inhaling deeply at the sight of a few of his men wandering across the park towards. "Oh, here they are. I'll be right back, ladies."

As he moved off towards them, Grace touched a hand to her chest and said, "oh, thank God, that was awkward. That poor man has all the conversational charm of a wet fish."

"I like him," Carol said. "But I hope we can trust him. He seemed interested, at least, didn't he?"

"Interested in helping our men or interested in finding them? Two very important distinctions, Carol."

"_We_ have to find them first," Carol pointed out. "Come on, I'll help you into the truck."

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******************************************************************DarylDixon'sLover - Indeed.**

******************************************************************Brazen Hussy - I like to imagine Merle is a collector of weird crap.**

******************************************************************spygrrl99 - Carl needs serious help, that's for sure. I think his anger is something that needs a healthy outlet, like shadow boxing or something.**

******************************************************************Happy Blue Ink - I would imagine it would be hard to see a sibling in that condition and feeling like you let his tormentor's live when you could have smacked them all down.**

******************************************************************Claire Randall Fraser - I would imagine in a world like TWD, when all you really have is family, you'd feel even more afraid of losing that than anything else. I could only imagine a hard world like that without anyone and I think I'd lose my shit and go a little funny in the head.**

******************************************************************itsi3 - Very!**

******************************************************************Special guest star: Surplus Imagination - I was recently reading an article on our sixth sense that was really interesting. I mean, you don't realize how often you get gut feelings, until you learn to shut out everything and just follow them.**

******************************************************************Merle's Right Hand - Never forget that I'm a beautiful Canadian bitch, baby!**


	30. Apple

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**Chapter Thirty: Apple  
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****Grace****

Major O'Hara's men were a little nervous about letting him go off with them, but one word from the man had their spines snapping straight and their chests puffing out.

She had to admire his leadership skills.

He had chosen to sit in the back of the truck as opposed to the cab, so Merle had opted to sit back there with him and Cash had gone as well for reasons that both Grace and Carol secretly suspected were full of the blond man's hopes of bagging a friend in Merle.

Grace didn't mind the peace and quiet in the cab with Carol, they drove companionably, chatting about this Major O'Hara and what they hoped they could achieve.

"If we find the men, what then? What if there's nothing Major O'Hara can do for them?" Grace asked. "What if he's tricking us?"

Carol frowned at the highway. "I don't think he is. What agenda could he have?"

"Impressing this Colonel of theirs by bringing home the trophies?"

"That's why we do this on our terms, if we get a bad feeling about him we have full control of the situation," Carol assured her. "He even gave up his weapons to us."

"What do we do then? If he does have wicked intentions?" Grace asked.

Carol licked her bottom lip. "I think you know what we need to do."

They drove on in silence, heading for nowhere in particular, but hoping they'd find some evidence of where the men went by going first home, then to Delgado's, maybe someone heard or saw something of them.

"I never knew the extent of Ed," Grace began softly. "I am very sorry."

"It doesn't matter," Carol said. "It strengthened me, I think. Prepared me for all of this. That man was a monster, compared to him, all of this is a day in the park."

"Trial by fire, isn't that what one would call it?" Grace asked. "I am sorry, though, I wish people, all people, would be a little more kinder to each other. Sometimes, I think that snake bred with Eve in the Garden of Eden and their children are the bad men and women of this earth. Wrapping themselves around us, corrupting our innocence, convincing us to take a bite of the apple."

"Grace?" Carol asked. "May I ask you something? It might be a little personal…"

"Honey, we've shared a lot of sex secrets lately, I feel like a secular woman, ask me anything."

"Why did you…I mean it seemed so sudden when you and the Lieutenant got together…how'd you do it so quickly?"

"You mean, how'd I abandon my vows for a man in the blink of an eye?" Grace sighed. "Last Christmas, from what we estimated, at least, I was trying to hold a lovely, quiet mass, hoping to cheer Annie up with the word of God, when this swamp giant dressed in a red Santa Claus suit – from where he dragged it I will never know – wanders into the church from the blustering snow outside. All the sisters are silent, Father O'Rourke, quiet, watching this Cajun dressed as Old Saint Nick march up the aisle and he takes a seat, easy as you please, behind the pulpit.

Well, Annie, like any child, gets far more excited about Santa then she does about the scripture, so she's sitting beside me, chomping at the bit, and Lafayette is just sitting up there on the dais, behind Father O'Rourke, quiet and respectful, listening to the sermon, with this awful beard and old, worn combat boots spray painted black.

So, about an hour and some later, when Father O'Rourke finishes, I finally let Annie race up to 'Santa' and she launches herself into his lap and starts yammering on about everything and anything, asking him if there's bad people in the North Pole too and if she could have this and that.

And this man, who up until that point, doesn't quite know what to make of her, is listening quietly and patiently, large hand on her back, holding her from falling backwards off his bony knee and there's a sparkle in his eye, like maybe he's had a bit of Christmas spirits, but he's listening so intently to Annie, that he doesn't notice I have stepped up to receive the girl when she finishes and as Annie completes her heathen Santa worship and climbs down, this cheeky damned Cajun turns those glittering eyes on me and pats his knee saying, 'have a seat, _jolie catin_, we'll see if you make the nice or naughty list'.

I was so tightly wound back then, still am, I suppose, but I threw my hand to my chest and gawped at him in mild horror as around me the church fell stark silent.

To this day, I swear to God he was propositioning me. So, yes, I abandoned my vows very fast for him and whether God desired me to take that path or not, I have no regrets about it. But he makes me laugh and he comforts me in this darkest of times and I don't care if it's selfish of me to need those things, but I do and he's the only man who can offer me that.

So, if that makes me weak for sins of the flesh, then so be it. I look at it as God giving me this man, this six foot something comfort and I took it.

The night we made love, he held me and I swear to the good Lord, it felt right. I fit right in his arms, against his body against all laws of physics, my curves fit right up against his angles and it was natural. It was the way God designed us.

The thing about us women, Carol, we're not made to be physically strong, but we are the pillars of our society. Women are the backbone of this world and the things we have to put up with, we bear like any soldier. As a nun, you're…you're almost castrated as a woman, you have only the restrained version of this strength and you must bear only the weight of God, but as a secular woman you hold up all men and have this freedom to choose when and how to bear this weight.

So I have no regrets. Not a single one."

Carol smiled serenely in agreement.

"I'm getting in touch with this feral female hidden deep within me," Grace added with a sly grin. "And I'm falling in love with her."

"What is the Vatican's stand on masturbation in this day and age?" Carol teased.

Grace beamed.

"Because I would probably be condemned a sinner eighty times over," Carol went on.

This produced a laugh of pure joy from the former nun.

"Oh, me too," Grace admitted softly as the laughter died.

Carol's eyes widened.

"That…I didn't just say that out loud!" Grace hid her face in her hands.

Behind them the window slid open and Cash stuck his head in. "You girls know we can hear everything you're talking about, right? It's just a half opened pane of glass, not a soundproofed studio wall."

"Oh my Lord," Grace hid her face deeper in her hands. "Carol, make him go away?" She pleaded.

Beside her, Carol took one hand off the wheel long enough to push Cash back out, sliding the window closed between them as she pulled the truck down their cattle trail in the early twilight. It felt comforting going home, like even the trail leading there was a little piece of it. She knew there'd be friendly faces and a soft, warm bed.

But as they approached the gate, she instantly felt something was wrong, there were too many people on the wall, heavily armed, too many people at the gate, watching them drive up with severe apprehension.

As he approached the driver's side door, Glenn released a heavy breath. "Oh, Carol, good get inside."

She didn't ask questions, just pulled the truck into the convent grounds as the gate was opened wider for them.

Stopping the truck in front of the church, Carol and Grace hopped out as Glenn hurried to catch up with them.

"What's going on?" Carol demanded.

Grace, who had hung back to ensure no one mishandled Major O'Hara as a guest of theirs, watched Glenn hurriedly explain the situation.

"You have Rhoades here?" Carol asked.

Glenn nodded. "He approached us, wants to help."

"Where is he now?" O'Hara asked.

Glenn eyed him, before pointing a curious finger at the man.

"He's with us," Carol assured Glenn.

"Rhoades is in the church right now with Sister Joan," Glenn explained, turning his eyes on Grace and frowning, before saying, "you might want to go see Herschel in the infirmary."

"Why?" Grace asked.

Glenn paled a little. "It's Annie."

She didn't wait to hear anything else, but took off for the infirmary, ignoring the complaint her ankle was giving her as she ran it hurt, but it was only a background noise in her mind, nearly slamming into Herschel on his way out as she entered.

"Grace," he greeted, but she passed him by, moving down the row of beds, searching for her little girl.

Annie was in the closest one to the door, sleeping like an angel. She looked pale and was drenched in sweat, but she looked like she was just sleeping, her little chest rising and falling.

"She'll be fine," Herschel explained. "By the grace of God, she only broke her leg when that statue fell on her."

Leaning down, Grace pressed a kiss to Annie's temple and took her hand.

"It's okay, baby girl, mommy's here now," she whispered. "What happened?" She asked Herschel, who was taking a stand just beside her.

"She was panicking and tried to climb one of the angel statues in the church, it went out the window and took her with it."

"Oh Lord," Grace huffed. "Didn't anyone give her the medication to calm her?"

"She was out of control, Grace, we all tried our best."

"This is my fault, I shouldn't have left her on her own, she's too young, too easily scared."

Carol moved to stand opposite her at Annie's bed side and reached down to touch Annie's chubby cheek, stroking it gently with her knuckles.

Merle and Cash both stood in the doorway of the infirmary with Major O'Hara, all three men curious about the going's on. Grace didn't miss the small, compassionate furrow that Major O'Hara wore on his brow and motioned him into the infirmary.

"Major O'Hara," she said softly so as not to wake Annie. "This is my little girl, Annie."

The man knelt by the bedside and studied Annie. "She's yours?"

Touching a hand to Annie's soft, cinnamon skin, Grace smiled gently. "She's adopted."

"She's very small," he said, marvelling at Annie for a minute more, before getting to his feet. "Okay, where's Rhoades? We have some things to discuss."

Annie shifted on the bed and everyone froze in the hopes that she'd fall back to sleep, but they weren't so lucky.

Groggily she opened her eyes and they landed first on the towering man standing beside Grace, before finding Grace and tearing up a little.

"It's okay, honey, you're okay, I'm home," Grace whispered, smearing Annie's tears away with an expert hand that only mothers had the practice with.

Taking in the situation for a moment, clinging hard to Grace's hand, Annie sniffled and eyed the strange man again.

"Who are you?" She demanded boldly.

"Major Henry O'Hara, US Army," he greeted.

"Are you an angel?" Annie went on with her innocent questioning.

"Not that I'm aware of, little miss."

"You look like one."

"Thank you."

"An angel fell on me today, see?" She pointed to her leg in the cast.

"Oh?"

"Is my daddy home yet?" She asked.

"I don't believe so."

"Mommy?" Annie asked Grace.

"Not yet, baby, soon."

"Are you going to be living with us now?" Annie asked the Major.

"No, I'm just visiting. I hope to meet your father."

"He'll like you, he likes everyone. Don't worry, he's big, but he's not mean. So don't be scared."

Major O'Hara blinked at the little girl, before a wide, toothy grin split his stern face and he nodded. "You've allayed my concerns expertly, miss."

"I don't know what that means," Annie said, adjusting her blankets, trying to kick them free with her good leg.

Grace and Carol helped her free herself.

"It means I'm not longer scared to meet your father."

"You shouldn't be, he likes to give hugs, you want a hug? You can hug me if you want," Annie said. "Normally I wouldn't let you, but you're an angel, so that's okay. Right, mama?"

"I won't hug you, miss, but I will give you a finger point."

"What's that?"

"You've never finger pointed before?"

Annie pointed at him with a grin.

He chuckled and quickly, nervously stuck his own finger out and just grazed the tip of hers, it was fast and done.

Annie giggled, but it died quickly and she touched the cast.

"Are you in pain, honey?" Grace asked, slipping into mother mode.

"Yes."

"Bad?"

"Mm," Annie said. "Are you going to stay now?" She asked.

Grace was quiet for a moment, mulling that question over. "Yes." She cast Carol an apologetic look and Carol smiled in complete understanding.

"I'll go meet with this Rhoades," Carol said. "You settle in with Annie if you want."

"Thank you," Grace said, preparing to lie down beside Annie on the bed.

But Merle and Cash, still lingering near the doorway looking out into the yard curiously, had both women craning their necks to peer out the infirmary window.

Sitting up higher on the bed, Grace could see the lights of a vehicle pulling up behind theirs in front of the church and she stood up with Carol.

"Mommy?" Annie asked.

"I'll be right back honey, just hold on, please?" Grace said, moving to the door with Carol.

Outside on the lawns, she could barely make Michonne hopping out of the truck in the pale blue light of the yard.

In the cover of darkness, she and Carol moved across the grass, heading for the woman, losing sight of her as she disappeared into the deep black shadow cast by the church.

By they arrived at the side of the truck, Michonne was calmly pulling out a few supplies she must have come across on her journey.

"Michonne," Carol greeted, trailing off as both her and Grace spied Daryl hanging around the shadows nearby, his form barely made out in the dim light.

Grace smiled as Carol didn't hesitate to run to him, throwing her arms around the man, knocking him to the ground as he seemed unprepared to catch her and her added weight. Laughing as Daryl grumbled out a half-hearted protest, Grace touched a hand to her mouth in the hopes of restraining her joy.

Her smile faded when she realized something was missing. Or someone, rather.

Looking about in the darkness where Daryl was in the hopes of seeing someone waiting for her, she found it hard to make heads or tails of it.

Just when she began to grow desperate, she felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her waist and a low, Cajun rumble whisper, "I still have your drawers in my pocket."

"Oh God, Rick, I didn't intend for you to keep them," she teased, beaming happily at Michonne who was trying hard to look like she wasn't overjoyed at the two couples reuniting. She turned in Lafayette's arms and feigned shock, "oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else entirely."

Her swamp giant wrinkled his nose at her. "I know you're joking, but you're terrible at it, so just stop."

Smiling, she reached up and took his face in her hands, pulling him down for a kiss.

"Why ever are you two sneaking in on the shadows like a couple of thieves?" She demanded as they pulled apart.

Daryl, who had long ago given up struggling under Carol on the ground scoffed. "Figured this place might be monitored by now, thought it was best to creep in under a couple of tarps in the back of the truck."

"He's more than a pretty face I keep around," Lafayette said with a grin, dipping down to steal another kiss from her, before slipping his hand into hers.

She tilted her head. He had never done anything like that before, but she kind of liked how old fashioned it was, so she didn't say anything about it.

"Why'd you two come back?" Carol demanded, suddenly a little irritated sounding.

"Fay had a gut feeling," Daryl explained.

"It didn't settle with me well, is everything okay here?" Her Cajun asked.

"Annie had a fall while we were away."

The Marine shifted into action mode, his muscles tensing. "Fall?"

"She's fine, broke her leg, but thank God that's all."

"Where is she? Is she okay? I mean, did someone set it? Is she in pain?"

"She's in the infirmary right now, it's been dealt with, and she's in a little pain, but not enough to stop her from twittering away like a little bird in a mulberry bush."

Turning to head for the infirmary, Lafayette nearly bowled over Major O'Hara and Merle who were both standing just behind him.

"Who the fuck are you?" Daryl snapped, getting off the ground and putting himself between Major O'Hara and Carol.

"He's with us," Carol said.

"He said he's going to try to help you," Grace added.

Her Cajun looked the man up and down, before saying, "I don't remember you from Tennessee."

"Major O'Hara. I've been in Kentucky for two months with my men," O'Hara returned. "You must be," he looked Lafayette up and down, "the Marine?"

"Vancoughnett."

"And that makes you…Daryl."

Daryl eyed him critically, shifting on his feet. "Yeah."

Touching her Cajun's chest gently, Grace pushed up onto her tiptoes to whisper. "He seems nice enough, but doesn't like to be touched and doesn't do small talk."

"Alright," he whispered back, turning to the man. "So, why are you helping our girls, Major?"

"I firmly believe that my duty is not to stamp out life, but to protect it, I'm willing to hear you two out and get the whole story."

"That's very diplomatic of you," Daryl rasped.

Grace watched with a small smirk as Carol touched his hand and the man's countenance shifted back from aggressive to neutral.

"I like to think so."

"So? What you want from us?" Daryl asked.

"To talk. Just talk."

"Maybe inside the church," Grace suggested. "Safer inside."

All three men agreed. Heading in with Carol and Merle, Grace hung back.

"I'm going back to be with Annie," Grace explained to Carol as she passed. "Think I'll tell her the good news about her daddy being back."

Carol smiled. "Okay, I'll watch the men. Make sure they play nice."

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**DarylDixon'sLover - Or oh girl? Right? Am I right? Nah, you get me.**

**Brazen Hussy - Merle would understand...well no he wouldn't, he'd probably punch some dicks with his blade hand.**

**vickih - Funny thing. I'd imagine his phobia would probably suit him best in the ZA world. Think of it. He has a lot of practice in avoiding people touching him, so he'd be great at avoiding having a walker bite or claw him.**

**Merle's Right Hand - Amazing how? Like you enjoyed it amazing or it was pretty bad and you said it was amazing because you're too kind. ^_^**

**Yazzy x - You can't trust anyone. Not really. People are horrible.**

**Lilone1776 - Oh no, you're on to me! O_O**

**Surplus Imagination - I've been saying for a while now that a lot of people will die. So...that might give you a good hint as to things to come.**


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